Of Much Madness and Reason
by SheWroteintheWind
Summary: AU. As Sakura is about to discover, choosing whose side you're on can be more than a matter of right and wrong, but a matter of life and death. To figure out where she stands, she has to embrace the reasoning of an unlikely ally, which may just mean accepting the concept that you must hold your loved ones close and your enemies closer.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:**** Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto.**

**Rated M:**** Due to coarse language, violence, and some adult themes.**

* * *

Looking in the mirror, which really isn't much of a mirror at all but a thin, corroded sheet of aluminum bolted to the wall inside the institute's front lobby restroom, Sakura Haruno wonders what her interviewee will make of her. Not that she particularly cares, no, but his mind is interesting. Will he pick her apart, unwrap her from the carefully chosen neutral ensemble she had laid out the night before, and see her for all her faults, all her insecurities?

Or could she beat him at his own game?

Inhaling a calming breath to sweep away her nerves, Sakura examines her expression for any signs of cowardice. She's a bit younger looking for her true age than she'd like to be, a trait that normally wouldn't be such a bad thing except for what she's about to attempt. She needs to be tough. Immovable. Stoic.

All the things she knows she isn't.

But the man she's about to meet certainly is. The best she can manage is a perfect façade for just long enough to get him to say everything she needs to hear. It'll be a race against the clock.

_I can do it._

She throws the damp paper towel in the trash can and exits on the last highs of confidence she can manage to conjure up. On the other side of the door, she nearly bumps into the guard waiting to escort her to the basement level. It had been a quick decision during the culprit's apprehension that he was not to be detained at Konoha's own maximum security facilities where there was too much speculation as to how he would be received.

_People do crazy things for their loved ones. Even when they've been betrayed._

Sakura knows the truth in that sentiment all too well. She's guilty of it.

"Ready?"

Sakura nods once, a firm affirmation to the question even though her stomach is churning with anything but confidence. Walking alongside officer Kankuro, her friend and current police escort, Sakura is desperately hoping his usual antics and offhand comments will make an appearance within the next minute – anything to help put her at ease.

But perhaps sensing the seriousness and significance of this occasion, Kankuro has reigned in his normal pursuits at humor and leads the way with focused determination. She had half expected him to make an obnoxious show of checking out her butt as she walked by in her new heels. This side of Kankuro, the silent and business-minded side, is unsettling. It warns her of what's to come and she clenches her hands into loose fists.

Wearily, she checks the belt fitted snuggly around the waist of his uniform, uncertain if the sight of the baton and gun are reassuring or daunting in their presence. With only the clacking of their footsteps down the metal stairs serving as conversation, Sakura hopes her cell phone will ring in the next twenty seconds so she can answer to the gentle voice of Shizune or the harsh, barking orders of Tsunade. She doesn't care which. So long as the news she receives informs her that they've changed their minds; that she no longer has to descend into the shadowy bowels of Suna's maximum security correctional facility to face off with a man whose psychological state cannot be consistently evaluated.

Insane or genius? No psychologist had been able to definitively answer that question. And Sakura is no psychologist which makes this entire situation even more preposterous to her. What could Tsunade have been thinking?

_Or drinking._

Kankuro wraps his knuckles brusquely against the door that is Sakura's entrance into the tunnel of nightmares.

_Please, no one be home._

Her frantic mind's attempts at humor almost make a watered down and clumsy smile slip across her face, but the dull buzzing of an electronic bell quickly calls back her attention to the present situation. Kankuro has already punched in the access code on the dial pad next to the door, signaling to the officer on the other side that he has the proper clearance.

Her alert senses catch the disharmonious scraping of metal against concrete as she imagines the guard on the other side pushing back his seat to answer their call. She can hear the whirring of gears and lock mechanisms within the door stirring to life, and within seconds, one final, heavy clank of metal seems to put the door at peace.

With a heavy groan, the door opens inward and Kankuro ushers Sakura ahead of him. Nervously, she steps through the threshold and nods at the grim-faced guard who had opened the door for them.

A wave of light headedness overwhelms her as she takes in the row of prison cells on either side of the narrow passageway. The Tunnel, as Kankuro had referred to it earlier in the week during one of several meetings to help prepare her for what she is about to face, ends in a blank, sand-colored brick wall. There is only one entrance. One escape.

Never before has she so strongly felt the impulse to turn around, to assure her paranoid mind that the door still exists.

_That I won't be trapped down here. With him._

So abruptly that she can't control the reflexive jump of shock, a gentle weight alights on each of Sakura's shoulders.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, easy there," Kankuro drawls with a touch of amusement.

Sakura looks up over the back of her shoulder to see Kankuro's laughing face peering down at her, a hint of concern evident around the tightness of his eyes.

"Do you still think you can handle this?"

Sakura inhales through her nose twice, feeling the comforting weight of Kankuro's hands providing a slight resistance to the rise of her shoulders with each breath. She feels like a prized fighter about to enter the ring. She's Sakura Haruno – top of her class, a medical prodigy under the tutelage of the renowned Tsunade-sama, and she is not one to back down. Certainly not to any criminal.

_But it's him_ a tiny, niggling voice of doubt worms its way into her thoughts.

"Yes," she says calmly, proud to hear the control in her voice, "It won't be a problem."

"Good," with a final squeeze of her shoulders, Kankuro releases his grip on her, "Remember, Sakura…This is a long shot and this sort of work is way outside your area of expertise. No one is expecting any miracles, but the fact that you consented to this says a lot about your character."

Sakura turns all the way around to face him, both challenge and questioning dancing in her eyes.

Absentmindedly scratching the back of his head, Kankuro's gaze drags slowly down the line of cells to his left, "And who knows, maybe something will come of this. Nothing else has helped. I just feel bad that someone like you has to be pulled into this."

The hint of challenge now bursts into green flames as Sakura's sharp eyes narrow and Kankuro inwardly gulps, fretting that he just set off her volatile temper.

"You're right, I _shouldn't_ have been pulled into this; it's completely asinine to give into a criminal's demands all because there appears to be no other way," Sakura's voice dips low and she feels sorry for flinging these words at Kankuro. He isn't the one that deserves this, but damn it if her phone call this morning with Konoha's Chief of Police hadn't irked her to no end.

"But it doesn't matter now because here I am. And I'm going to make him talk."

Sakura's declaration is crisp and determined. It's only after the muffled echo dies down in the tunnel that a wave of regret rolls through her body.

_He_ could most certainly hear her.

Swallowing the lump that has just lodged itself in her windpipe, Sakura decides she should hold her waggling tongue for now before it gets her killed.

Kankuro seems unable to detect the sudden anxiety now coiling around her throat and cheerfully claps her on the back, "That's the Sakura I know and fear! Ok," his tone changes, taking on a decidedly more serious note, "Baki will be standing guard here the entire time so all you have to do is call out should you be given any trouble. Unfortunately, I have a meeting scheduled in the next ten minutes so I can't stay here with you – and Temari will fry my ass if I'm late again," he makes a face at the mention of his sister.

"I'll be fine," she responds, notably more subdued in volume.

"Alright, he's on the left, all the way at the end," Kankuro salutes, "Good luck."

Sakura's heartbeat speeds up to a nearly uncomfortable rate once she hears the door close behind her friend. Yes, Baki remains behind with her, but his impression of a stone does nothing to alleviate her jitters.

_I can do this._

Maybe if she says it enough she'll begin to believe it.

Feeling Baki's watchful eyes sear into her back, she takes off down the tunnel, mindful of keeping to the middle. The particular criminal she is about to have an unpleasant little chat session with isn't the only resident down here in the basement level. The first few cells on either side are occupied by men gone wild and mad. A few don't bother to stir as she trails past, but most clamber up from their barren cots to cling to the bars separating them from touching the first feminine flesh they've seen in months. For some, years.

Pointedly, she refuses to make eye contact with any of them, her gaze locked onto a point far ahead on the back wall. She only wishes she could deafen her ears to their calls for attention and their lewd comments at her dress.

It's enough to make her want to turn back and run.

But she holds firm to her path, her feet moving as though a magnet pulls her along a predetermined path. Her mind blocks out their frenzied jeers.

_At least I won't have to deal with that kind of behavior from him._

In actuality, all of the files about her interviewee had mentioned the disturbing quality of his politeness in dealing with their inquiries. Not just with the psychologists who had examined him, but with the officers who had apprehended and booked him. There had been no threat, no hostility, no attempt at violence. By anyone's standards he has been nothing but cooperative.

His behavior has been completely incongruous with the crimes he has been accused of.

But he is guilty, of that Sakura has little to no doubt.

_It's all a game to him. He thinks he's so superior compared to the rest of us peons._

Contempt contorts her features into a scowl as she reaches the middle of the tunnel, the cells now empty of convicts. He has been isolated in the best way the Suna officers could manage.

And there's plenty of reason for that.

At last she reaches it, the hole he has been confined to for the last three weeks since his discharge from the hospital. And what a lovely hole it is, she thinks, surprised at her own sadistic thoughts. Blank, sand-colored walls, enclosing him on three sides while the fourth, the one standing between them, is a sheet of thick glass reinforced with steel beams. Inside, for the occupant's benefit, he is granted a pallet-like bed mounted to the back wall with a mattress that can't be more than a mere five centimeters thick, and a thin, gray blanket. Of course, he has a toilet out in the open which, for the life of her, she can't imagine him using, yet can't help but mentally snicker at. Other than that, there's a small sink to wash at (though she spies no soap), and that concludes the little tour.

All in all, his hole is more like a tank, really, with him as the restless animal on display.

_Good._

More important than the cell is the man trapped inside, the man staring straight back at her as though he has nothing to hide.

_Keep pretending that, asshole._

"Miss Haruno," his voice causes the hair on the back of her neck to bristle, "Such a pleasure to see you again."

"Yes, well, I wish I could say the same," she comments dryly, "Itachi."

He emits an amused humming sound and Sakura can feel the way her eyebrows knit together in distaste.

Sitting on his bed, with his back resting against the wall, the Uchiha lounges with one leg dangling over the edge of the mattress and the other bent at the knee, an arm draped carelessly across it.

_Comfy?_

"Please, why don't you sit? I suspect you have a lot to say," he suggests, his chin inclining ever so slightly in the direction of the metal fold-out chair that some guard had thought to set out for her meeting. Irritation sizzles under the surface of her composure.

Still, she isn't going to be petty. If this act is all a game then his objective is to infuriate her. She won't give him the satisfaction. Taking her seat as calmly as she can, Sakura smoothes the wrinkles in the lap of her skirt and crosses her ankles, regarding her present company with a critical eye. Likewise, she can tell he's doing the same.

She wonders what he makes of her, of the young woman with pink hair and green eyes. The young woman he may or may not remember as a silly little girl chasing after his younger brother and making a complete fool of herself. She wonders what he thinks of her as she sits across from him, prim and poised in her collared, white blouse, knee length, navy skirt, and red heels. Has she grown up? Has she become wise to the ways of the world?

Or maybe he still sees her as a ridiculous, unsophisticated child.

It doesn't matter.

As she studies him, she takes in the whiteness of his pale skin that almost appears luminescent under the intense lights overhead in his cell. It could be some mild form of torture to deprive him of sleep. She doesn't care.

She takes in the long, ebony hair now hanging loose from its tie. Most likely, it had been confiscated on the precaution that he might entertain the idea of self-harm.

_However a rubber band can be used for that._

From what she remembers of him _before_, Itachi was never flashy, but dressed well – which was to be expected from any member of the proud Uchiha lineage. He came from money. But now, just like every other soulless individual locked away in here, he is garbed in the drab, shapeless, gray uniform of all Suna inmates.

Sakura holds back a smirk, but just barely.

Lastly, she takes in the deep, inky pools that serve as his eyes. From this distance she can't distinguish pupil from iris though she knows it doesn't make much difference. They practically bleed into each other. But his eyes have always been off-putting; they are the one feature that remained clear in her memories for all these years.

She knows he's waiting for her to begin. It's her turn to say something in their little charade of an exchange. Tempting as it is to mimic a rock for the next hour – or however long this drags out – she made a promise, albeit a forced promise, to this man's father to speak to him.

_Funny how two people from the same family can sit on opposite sides of the law._

It's an intriguing thought, she must admit. The whole nature vs. nurture debate…

"Sakura."

She flinches at the sound of her name said in his voice. It just isn't right. He can't say it as though he knows her; that'd be like him claiming he owns a part of her.

"It's Miss Haruno to you," she snaps, her eyes betraying how startled she is upon noticing he's risen from his position reclining against the back wall and has now closed the distance between them, standing just beyond the glass and right before her seat.

"As you wish," he concedes, lowering his head in a mock gesture of submission. With eyes still on the floor at his bare feet, he continues, "So what have they sent you to relay to me? I'm sure you would like to get this over with as painlessly as possible."

"Is that a threat?" her voice sharpens to a point, ready to slash.

"No," he whispers, "I merely suggest it for your own benefit…and judging by the coffee stain on the hem of your shirt, the shadows under your eyes, and your rough attempt at concealing it, I believe you'd much rather be at home in bed.

Not a hint of smugness lingers in his words, yet who could possibly say something like that so bluntly without the intention to provoke?

_Polite my ass!_

And damn him for noticing the coffee spill! She can still feel the slightly damp fabric sticking to her skin from where she had dabbed at it with a paper towel in the restroom. Her fingers itch to swipe open the compact mirror tucked away in her purse to check her mascara.

She had been a bit rushed this morning to get to the correctional facility after hanging up the phone with _his_ father.

She hates those eyes, so like his brother's, yet so entirely different.

"Well, now that the psycho has analyzed me, perhaps we can switch places, hm?" Sakura grits out between tight lips. Pulling out the bundle of documents attached to a clipboard in her tote bag, Sakura flips through a few pages before glancing back up at Itachi's silent form. His shadow does not reach quite far enough to fall across her, and for some reason that brightens her mood.

"Now, that's not exactly professional is it, Miss Haruno? To address your patient as a psycho straight to his face?"

Sakura almost chuckles at the slight tone of surprise his admonishment carries.

"Please," she says sarcastically, "You and I both know I'm not here today in the role of doctor. I'm not even a psychologist. The only reason I'm here is because you insisted you would speak to no one but the 'pink doctor.' Couldn't remember my name after all these years, Uchiha-san?"

At that, the corner of his mouth pulls up, but the twitch of muscle is restrained from going any further than that.

"Yes, that does sound familiar. I believe the pain medication was partly to blame, and no, I didn't forget," he responds.

"Before we continue any further, I'll give you my take on the situation and how this is all going to play out," Sakura says nonchalantly, uncrossing her legs in favor of crossing her arms, pleased with herself that her earlier fears have dissipated for the most part, "This is all a ruse to buy a little time before your court date. Maybe by baiting the police with potential information on your _association's _activities you can run their task force around in circles and get some laughs. Maybe you'll drop a few half-truths here and there to keep things going, maybe bargaining to get better health care in here since I'm sure that medicine you're on isn't going to do the trick for long."

Sakura's saccharine smile is truly anything but sweet.

"Is that so, Miss Haruno?" Itachi asks slowly, in a way that Sakura knows he doesn't expect an answer.

Without reading any of the printed words, Sakura flips through her packet of information on Itachi's medical charts, his brief interrogation with the police, and even the official report of his arrest. It had been a short account to read.

"I have another theory too," she offers after a moment's silence. Itachi's head lifts, his gaze dead centered on her.

"I think you're a vile human being who deserves worse than whatever punishment the judicial system is going to hand down to you. You've wrecked so many lives you can't possibly be aware of the extent of your actions. How much grief are you to blame for?" she asks rhetorically, knowing he'll keep quiet on this.

Licking her lips and forcing her anger into succinct, linear thoughts, she continues, "But my other theory is this: you're not infallible and you know this. You're sick and weak and rather than die a felon without a home, you came back to Konoha to turn yourself in. To make amends as best you can because you don't have much time left. You're certain of that, so you might as well give the most important people you've hurt some peace of mind."

In the dead, stale air of the tunnel, the only sound is the hum of electricity channeling through the ceiling lights glaring fiercely down on them.

But finally, slowly and in small bursts, the silence is cracked like an egg and Sakura's mouth drops open in shock as her ears are greeted with first the soft chuckle and then the full-blown laughter of Itachi Uchiha.

Gobsmacked, she doesn't know how to proceed.

But finally, his laughter dies out the same way it had come, gradually and with effort, he manages to look her in the eyes. Clutching at his side as though in pain (and he probably is), he at last manages, "You think I'm seeking _redemption_?"

Sakura's normally bright green eyes darken with fury.

_How dare he!_

"You have no remorse for what you've done?"

Another laugh escapes past finely sculpted lips.

_HOW_

"Grand larceny. Arson. Conspiracy. Stalking. First-degree murder. I can keep going!"

Though he doesn't make a sound, she watches the way his shoulders jump, silently laughing.

_DARE_

"You're part of a terrorist organization that whores itself out to the highest bidder! You have no ties to your homeland! Your family!" Sakura's isn't even aware of the fact that she's now on her feet, stalking up to the glass wall.

But as she moves forward, he moves backward, as though responding in a game of chess. Shaking his head yet refusing to meet her heated glare, he moves back until his hands make contact with something solid and cool. Clasping onto the edge of the sink, he leans his weight back into it, in need of support.

_HE!_

"Your family," she can hear the nearly pleading quality of her voice, begging for his humanity to make an appearance, "They haven't given up on you. You've hurt them so badly. Sasuke – he – "

Clasping his forehead, his fingers fisting into limp strands of hair, Itachi sinks to his knees, his laughter having returned in full force.

Slamming her palm flat against the glass creates a powerful echo throughout the tunnel, rousing some of the other prisoners from their sleep and delusional musings. Yet, it has no effect in catching the attention of whom it was directed toward. Letting her head fall forward until her forehead rests against the glass, Sakura sighs, feeling a great weight settle onto her shoulders.

She should have never been asked to do this.

She should have never agreed to do this.

_Should have, should have…_

It ends here.

_For now._

She may have failed to get anywhere today, but she has been presented with a new side of Itachi that has never been documented before.

Granted, it's a very scary, maniacal side…

Stepping away, she returns to her seat to collect her things and then turns to make her leave, sparing one last look back at the Uchiha huddled on the floor.

She has to do a double take as her brain processes the sight of Itachi perched back on his mattress, just as he was when she first arrived.

A small, knowing smirk graces his lips, as he looks back at her through the veil of his bangs.

A chill sweeps across Sakura's skin all at once as she stares back, utterly floored.

Wrenching her neck to the side so as to break eye contact, she forces her feet to make the journey back to the tunnel's entrance.

Nothing good can come of this.

* * *

**Author's Note:**** Here we go, readers, another new story idea! This is actually one of the more recent ones I've had and decided to run with. If you've read my other stories, this one clearly deviates from my usual habit of writing super long chapters. I'm trying to limit my chapter length and see if that affects my motivation to write so that in the end, I won't be burnt out and the story will be even longer. We'll see how it goes. Anyway, some of you may have picked up on the similarities in the set-up of the tunnel being like that seen in **_**Silence of the Lambs**_**. I finally got around to seeing it and that's just my little nod to it. **

**On a different note, I am open to suggestions from you all if you'd like to PM me with storyline ideas or characters you'd like to see me work into a story. Obviously, I can't guarantee to write a story for everything suggested (nor how soon it will be done), but who knows what ideas I'll take a fancy to.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:**** Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto.**

**Rated M:**** Due to coarse language, violence, and some adult themes.**

* * *

"Soooo," her best friend starts with little preamble, her eyes large with expectation as she leans over the table toward Sakura, "What was he like?"

Sakura sighs, slumping back into the cushioned patio seat. She knew when her best friend texted her about grabbing lunch together on their work break, that this would be the inevitable price she would have to pay for a free meal. Not the worst arrangement she could imagine, but her time in the tunnel was something she was trying to cram to the back of her mind, at least during the daylight hours when her focus needed to be on her patients.

Irritably, her fingers plunge the straw into her glass of mostly drained iced tea, stirring the ice cubes around as she desperately tries to think of something to say to distract Ino from her current pursuit of conversation.

Knowingly, Ino taps the tip of her perfectly manicured forefinger on the edge of her salad bowl.

"C'mon, Forehead, you didn't think I wasn't going to ask, did you? I mean, what, have the police sworn you to a vow of silence or something?"

And technically, no one had warned her to keep her mouth shut…

But she's pretty sure that was implied.

Perhaps, the police had simply assumed the whole doctor/patient confidentiality stipulation still applied to her. Itachi had been a patient of hers when he was carted into the ER at Konoha General.

_Why did I stay over my shift? Why?_

Lesson learned. She simply cares too much for her own good.

"Of course not. You're a nosy pig," Sakura comments as she pouts in her seat.

Swift as a striking cobra, Ino pierces the last of Sakura's tortellini with her fork, popping it into her mouth with a catty smile, "The very best."

_She's been hanging around Choji for too long. _

"Ugh, alright," Sakura gives in, "But I'm taking the rest of your cucumber."

Without the slightest fuss, thoroughly surprising Sakura and making her suspicious at the same time, Ino amiably scoots her salad forward into easy reaching distance.

Munching on a slice of cucumber and stealing a cherry tomato just to spite her best friend, Sakura pauses, wondering which words she should choose to best describe her encounter with the unbalanced convict.

"It was…disturbing."

Ino leans in, a single eyebrow arched in anticipation, "Aaannndd?"

"I – I don't know," Sakura looks down at her lap, seeing but not truly taking in the bread crumbs that had fallen into the folds of her napkin. Instead, her mind's eye travels back to the tunnel, with its intensely bright lights and desperate madmen clinging to their cages.

"While he was recuperating in the hospital, several attempts were made at psychological testing, not just for the purpose of identifying a treatment, but they'll be used by whatever bloodsucker they can scrounge up to defend his sorry ass in court," Sakura pauses, her memory focusing on the paleness of Itachi's skin under the glow of the lights, how he had to lean against the sink to support himself.

Ino clears her throat, a small sign of indignation at Sakura's unintentional barb.

Frowning, she continues, "The tests were all inconclusive. What he's done, what he's guilty of, you would think only insanity could be to blame. But when talking to him, he's so calm and polite, so calculated…Which would mean everything has been for a premeditated purpose. At least, that's what all the reports up to my visit would seem to indicate."

"Something happened, didn't it?" Ino rests her chin in her hand, her interest piqued to new heights, but Sakura can see the concern in her face.

"He went off," Sakura clasps her hands in her lap, "I hardly got anywhere before he burst into laughter. He _couldn't stop_, Ino."

Ino's sky blue eyes bulge at this information, "Laughing? As in haha-Sakura-actually-made-a-joke laughing, or I'm-a-sociopath laughing?"

"The sociopath kind," Sakura says pointedly, looking into Ino's eyes, knowing that even with this admission, she isn't fully conveying just how unsettling it was to witness.

"But he did something else," Sakura adds, tapping her fingers against her armrest in agitation. It's the one moment from her interaction with Itachi that had been plaguing her with doubt for the last few days.

"Well? Out with it, Forehead!" Ino implores, exasperation clear in her tone.

"He smiled," Sakura says simply.

Tilting her head to the side as though unsure she had heard correctly, Ino regards her troubled friend with a look of incredulity.

"Well," Sakura amends, "Not so much a smile as a smirk. You know that look some of the Uchihas have…" she trails off, but continues at Ino's nod of confirmation. The Uchihas are a notorious family in Konoha, going back for generations all the way to its founding. As such, they had accumulated a great deal of wealth and prestige, essentially staffing the majority of the police department with their own family.

"Well, I set off the insane laughter when I suggested that maybe the reason for his returning to Konoha and turning himself in is that he wants redemption. His health is pretty poor, in fact, I don't think the medicine he's on right now will have any effect at covering the symptoms for much longer," Sakura splays her hands out on the table as though admitting defeat, "I thought he might try to set things right with his family before he dies."

"And he laughed?"

"Uncontrollably so."

"But wait," Ino shakes her head, her waist-length ponytail swaying across the back of her chair, "What'd he smile for?"

"That's just it, I have no clue. One minute, I'm standing to gather my things and leave while he's convulsing on the floor with a fit of the giggles, and the next thing I know, he's sitting back on his bed. Relaxed and composed as though nothing had happened. And he was smiling about it," Sakura finishes flatly, clearly disgusted with the whole matter.

"What do you thi – ?"

But the blonde's question is left unfinished as her cell phone bursts into life to the lyrics of some obnoxious pop song Sakura takes every opportunity to shame Ino for liking.

After a quick back and forth of short sentences sprinkled with a little legal jargon Sakura never cared for, Ino ends the call in a huff.

"Such an incompetent, useless – UGH! Seriously, the unpaid interns could do better!" Ino seethes as she stuffs her phone and planner into her bag, hastily getting to her feet.

_Such a drama queen._

Sakura rolls her eyes good naturedly at her best friend's minor hissy fit, knowing it's more for show than anything. Ino is proud of her work and Sakura knows she takes a lot of pleasure out of doing it.

"Well, this _bloodsucker_ has to go do damage control for some imbecile. Let's do lunch again soon, ok?"

"Yeah, yeah, catch ya later, Ino-Pig," Sakura waves her hand lazily in dismissal.

Petulantly, Ino sticks her tongue out before hurrying out of the restaurant's back patio gate, her hair sashaying behind her.

Sakura had been flabbergasted when after a year of partying and building up her social circle at college, Ino had announced her switch from her major of "undecided" to "law." Now, she's not sure why she never pictured it before. Her best friend has always been a master of manipulation. Persuasiveness and panache are just a part of her physical make-up, as natural on her as a pair of Gucci pumps.

Sakura shakes her head in fondness as she watches Ino navigate her way down the busy sidewalk, weaving in and out of the crush of businessmen hustling back to their offices, and turning a few heads along the way.

Next to her bowl of fresh fruit, her cell phone buzzes as the alarm she always sets goes off, signaling that her lunch break has come to an end much too soon and she has ten minutes to hightail it back to the hospital.

As she wipes the corners of her mouth with her napkin and rises to her feet, a waiter with a tight-lipped smile and distrustful eyes makes sure to stop her at the table.

_Damn it, Ino-Pig! You forgot the check!_

* * *

Five days after Ino artfully left her to pick up the tab, Sakura stands in the kitchen, vigorously stirring a bowl of batter. Today is her day off from work and after waking up at the usual 7:30 a.m., a habit she found nearly impossible to break, she had come to the conclusion that her duty to the hospital meant she had been neglecting her domestic responsibilities for far too long. Sorting through her piles of laundry, vacuuming the living room, and giving the shower stall a thorough scouring, had left her with quite an appetite.

With the windows open and the wind gently blowing the pink curtain over the kitchen sink, Sakura happily hums along to the radio playing in her bedroom. Unlike her mom, Sakura has yet to cultivate any true passion for cooking, but her sweet tooth certainly appreciates the taste of cranberry-orange muffins. Even if they do come from a box.

Just as she is about to divide up the mixture into the muffin pan, her phone blasts the lyrics to "Bad Boys," her chosen I.D. for Kankuro since he had become a regular contact over the last two months. Her intuition warns her not to answer, to just pretend she can't hear it. But her conscience belittles her for being dishonest and cowardly, so, being bullied by herself, Sakura takes one last longing look at her muffin mix before snatching up the phone from the island bar.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Sakura, hope I'm not catching you at a bad time," Kankuro's hesitant voice fills her ear, pausing for a second as though offering a chance for her to say otherwise, but then speeding up as though thinking better of it, "Look, I know this is probably the last thing you want to do, especially on your day off – I called the hospital first – But, would you be willing to come back to the prison today?"

Sakura's fingers clutch the phone tightly against the shell of her ear as she mentally berates herself for answering the phone.

"I…I don't know, Kankuro, I mean, it didn't exactly help at all last time. I didn't get anything out of him. We had all of a three minute conversation before he became completely impossible to talk to," Sakura responds, trying to appeal to him with rationality without sounding whiny.

"He's asking for you. Just you," Kankuro states, as though this information is significant.

"He's just trying to obtain some form of control over the police while he's trapped like a rat in his hole. It's petty and childish, but that's all it is. And worse than that, you and the rest of the police are buying into it. He's not going to offer up any information," Sakura fires back, determined not to go back to the Suna prison, but knowing she'll fold so easily if Kankuro plays his cards right.

"But why would he be fixated on you? For whatever reason, you're the one and only person he claims he'll open up to. You could help our investigation so much!" Kankuro's voice has lost its hesitation, now motivated by his determination to fulfill his obligations as an officer of the law.

And there it is. The "h" world.

_Help._

"I don't know!" Sakura nearly cries out, while she sinks onto a stool, her eyes gazing hungrily at the blue ceramic bowl whose contents are waiting to be baked in the oven, "There are a couple possibilities. Maybe he's mentally latched onto me from his time in the hospital. He was on some pretty strong pain medication which would have left things a bit hazy and confusing for him. Or," Sakura's voice rises for emphasis, "Like I said before: he's yanking your chain! He's not going to tell you anything, but if he baits you with the possibility of it, you might be forced into a position to bargain with him. At the very least, it can delay his trial."

A weary sigh is breathed into her ear, and Sakura can envision the slouched posture of her friend as he sits at his office desk, wracking his brains for some way to solve this whole mess. Her resolve begins to crumble and frustration wells up inside Sakura as her free hand balls up into a fist, trying to grasp onto the last vestiges of her tenacity.

"Would you consider it a favor to me? Please? I just really think something could come of this, but we have to make the effort. Itachi's organization is still at large. If we could even get a description of some of the other members, it would be something. If we could get a lead on their whereabouts or any upcoming activity, it would be huge."

Sakura tilts her head back, staring at the rough texture of her kitchen ceiling and imagining patterns in the off-white paint.

"Alright," she hears her voice say, cringing as she realizes her day off will be more emotionally stressful than a bad day at work.

"Thank you, Sakura," Kankuro says sincerely, "How soon can you make it?"

Glancing down at her pajamas, Sakura stalls for a moment, "Uhh, give me an hour. I was in the process of making muffins," her sentence ends in a grumble.

* * *

An hour and ten minutes later, Sakura is following Kankuro down the same clanky set of metal stairs again, waiting for the sound of the same electronic bell as he enters the security code, and entering through the same door with the same stony-face guard on the other side.

_Does that guy ever get to go home?_

It's funny how she can be so flippant this time around when the first time she had been a jumbled ball of nerves, yearning to cling to Kankuro's cuff just like a little kid clings to her mother's dress when being introduced to a stranger.

Maybe it has something to do with her low expectations of today's outcome. That, and the fact that she's armed with firsthand experience of how unstable Itachi Uchiha can be.

Stalking silently down the tunnel (having chosen a simpler outfit of sandals, jeans, and a light, mint green sweater to dissuade the vulgar attention of the other inmates) with her head held high despite the lecherous catcalls following her wake.

_Shut the hell up!_

She is not one to be messed with today. Her precious muffin mix is going to waste and hardening into a crusty paste inside its bowl as she spends her day off _here_ of all places.

She had forgone her tote bag with its note-taking materials and patient files. Armed with only her car keys for a hasty retreat and an exceptionally foul temper, Sakura cares little for preparation at the moment. It had all been for naught the last time anyway. Without slowing down, she walks into the glaring light cast out into the passageway from Itachi's cell, making an abrupt about face to glower at the man who had forced her to come here.

Her ire spikes as she's met with a peaceful-faced Itachi resting on his back, eyes closed to the world.

"I know it may be hard to believe, but I didn't come here to watch you sleep," Sakura bites out, barely managing to cap her rage.

"No, I'm aware," Itachi replies, unshaken by her anger and fully awake despite his appearance, "It's a pleasure to see you again, Miss Haruno."

He sits up, swinging his legs over the side of his bed and, at last, opens his eyes to directly meet Sakura's.

"You can cut the polite schoolboy act. I know better," Sakura all but spits, every muscle in her body tensed as she stands just on the other side of the glass wall, ignoring the chair that had been set out for her.

"What do you mean exactly?" Itachi asks, his voice truly sounding genuine in its misunderstanding.

But she watches the way his eyes glide over her, analyzing and sizing her up once again. He's anything but slow in the head.

"The _Miss Haruno_ crap," Sakura clarifies, a dangerous edge to her words. Itachi is fortunate to be on the other side of the glass. If she could get her hands on him now, she'd strangle him into unconsciousness.

Itachi's hand pushes the hair back on the left side of his face, exposing an ear. Sakura watches the unconscious motion, such a simple movement, yet it captivates her attention. When viewed from behind, he would probably be mistaken as a woman with hair that long.

"I am merely addressing you the way you asked me to last time," he reminds her. There's nothing about the way he says it that would spark a fight, but the words themselves are fighting words. He has to tell her that it was she who insisted on the formality. Therefore, she's the mistaken one. The fickle one. The stupid one.

And yet he does it all with a gentle, polite tone, one that doesn't sound accustomed to being raised in conversation because people are simply compelled to listen to him when he deigns to open his mouth.

"Well, I am now asking you to call me by my first name," Sakura grits out, trying and failing miserably to adopt his same genial demeanor.

"As you wish, _Sakura_," his voice caresses each syllable with care, and Sakura wonders if she just made a mistake.

Choosing to actively restrain herself, Sakura forces herself to go sit down, though she moves the chair closer to the glass. To sit at such a distance when he is already confined makes her feel like a weak-hearted wimp.

All the while, Itachi's attentive, onyx eyes follow her movements, landing back on her face when she takes her seat, crossing one leg over the other as well as crossing her arms over her chest. A defiant, fierce expression lights up her face as though she is ready for battle. Perhaps for Sakura, that is exactly what it seems like.

"You don't want to be here," Itachi's gentle voice observes softly.

Sakura's head tilts to the side, her face twisting into a scowl, "How very astute of you."

Itachi takes no offense to her sarcasm, but gestures at her body, "You're uncomfortable. Everything about you reads defensive. From your tightly crossed arms across your torso to your crossed legs and apparent habit of biting your lips. Even the fact that you chose to wear your hair down, masking the sides of your face. It all points to your feelings of insecurity and desire to shield yourself. You're trying to protect yourself, though it is obvious I cannot pose any threat to you from in here."

She speculates whether his specification of "from in here" was worded as a concealed threat, or merely a benign, obvious observation. She refrains from disentangling her limbs though it takes a lot of willpower not to. Instead, she makes a mental note to slowly loosen up with time, so that Itachi doesn't assume his words have any effect on her. Still, she does release her lower lip from its frequent place clenched between her teeth. Itachi or no Itachi, she has always had a problem with that.

"So you're a master at body language as well as murder. How nice," Sakura sneers.

"You're not being very professional."

"I'm off the clock."

Itachi makes a _humph_ sound in his throat which is, fortunately, the closest he has come to laughing throughout their conversation.

"And for your information, my hair is this way because I didn't have work today and I prefer it down," she snips, not bothering to ask herself why she's even explaining such an inconsequential personal choice…and to him of all people.

"Ah. I prefer it down as well."

Stunned, Sakura feels a minor amount of warmth rushing to her cheeks, and feels equally repulsed by her reaction.

_Did he just…?_

Mentally shaking her head to dislodge the thought, Sakura clears her throat, trying to assume a more confident and in control attitude as she unfolds her arms and tries to sit a little less rigidly.

"So," Sakura begins, her anger now mostly subdued, "I don't suppose you're much for exposing the secrets of your organization to me or the police, are you?"

"Now that would be telling," Itachi replies, and Sakura swears she can almost detect a note of playfulness in his answer.

"But you did request that the police have me speak to you. Why?" Sakura beseeches, unsure of what she expects the answer to be.

Itachi doesn't answer right away, but instead, gingerly stands on his feet and crosses the distance from one side of his cell to the other. With one shoulder leaning against the glass wall and one foot hooked over the ankle of the other, he loosely crosses his arms with his hands resting on his elbows. Sakura wants to comment on his "defensive" posture, but her desire to hear what he has to say outweighs her animosity toward him for the moment. She can't derail him from whatever it is he's about to divulge, especially when it appears this important.

"You are the only one I could think of to ask," he answers at last.

Scrunching her eyes, Sakura regards him with confusion, "Ask what?"

Another pause.

Sakura catches herself biting her lip again as the tinge of iron assaults her taste buds.

"About my brother."

Sakura's ears pick up on the reluctance in his voice. It was difficult for him to admit that, or at least to voice it out loud to her. But more than that, she is shocked by his confession. He wants to know about his brother…And he thinks she has the answers he wants?

"Sasuke-kun."

It's involuntary, saying his name. But those syllables feel like home on her lips. Even after all these years. After all the hurt.

Itachi waits for her to say more.

But she can't. How can she? Even if she could, why should she say anything to the man Sasuke both hated and obsessed over?

"Your father was allowed to visit you. Once," Sakura says sharply, "It was just a few days after you were moved here. Why didn't you ask him?"

She can tell that Itachi is pressing more of his weight against the wall as the fabric stretching over his shoulder is flattened against the glass.

"I couldn't speak to him."

"So I read in the report," Sakura remarks dryly.

Itachi doesn't respond, reverting to looking down at his feet rather than meeting Sakura's gaze. But this time, Sakura's suspicions are on high alert.

_Is this all an act? But what can he gain from it?_

That's exactly where Sakura runs into a problem. From every angle that she can see, Itachi has nothing to gain from this. Asking about his brother is completely unexpected, but how could it help him get out of jail?

The simple truth is that it can't.

_So why bother? What's his motive?_

Seeing as that he looks prepared to give her the silent treatment until she offers something up, Sakura sighs, wondering what qualifies as safe information to willingly volunteer.

"I can't tell you much about your brother," Sakura starts as Itachi turns to face her straight on, "After high school, he enlisted in the military for a while. I wrote him letters, but he never responded," Sakura curls her hands over the edge of her seat, her nails scraping against the underside of the metal. It still burns deep to admit that, and the memory of bitter tears stinging her eyes each time she checked the mail is still a bit too fresh for her liking.

She leaves unsaid all the years of Sasuke growing up after Itachi had left without a trace. How the family had been torn apart with grief thinking the eldest son had been kidnapped. And when no ransom was ever demanded, they had sunk into absolute hopelessness that the boy would ever be returned to them alive. They mourned, but had no body to bury, no place to gather and cry and share fond memories. Sasuke had still been in elementary school at the time and was completely inconsolable. He had withdrawn into himself and no friends could penetrate the barriers he put up. Eventually, the investigation dropped.

It was some time during the beginning of their high school years that shit hit the fan.

A call had come in to the Konoha Police Department and the secretary to Chief of Police Fugaku Uchiha had answered the phone. The connection was bad and was eventually traced to a landline outside the country. But over the static, the voice was unmistakably that of the missing boy.

And in seven simple words he once again threw his family and the entire community into chaos: This is Itachi Uchiha. I am alive.

For a very brief period, hope was renewed. Sasuke had been different. More responsive. Not exactly happy, but getting there. Sakura prayed he would never fall so low into despair again.

But he did.

Less than two weeks after the call, international news was ablaze with an anonymously submitted video of a gruesome beheading of five important council members of some small nation state Sakura has since forgotten the name of. A private organization had been hired in order to orchestrate a coup. And it was successful.

In ripped clothing, the five men had been lined up next to each other and forced to remain on their knees, black cloth bags pulled over their faces and tied securely around their necks. They had screamed and cried in a language Sakura couldn't understand as one by one, a blade was pulled through their necks. Not that Sakura saw this, no, she had paused the video before the first cut was made. It was too much to bear. Even if she didn't know these people, even if they had committed treacherous acts during their lifetimes, she just couldn't make sense of it.

She couldn't even begin to understand the two men dressed in black, each armed with a short blade, standing on either end of the lined up council members. As though making a game out of it, they had taken turns at working from either end of the procession until they met in the middle at the final council member who surely must have been a quivering mass of grief and fear by that point. It was the shorter male who ended the life of the last councilman, standing behind his victim, he had slit the man's throat, a spray of red nearly reaching the camera – or so this is what Sakura's classmates had told her at the time as she vehemently refused to see it for herself. The video ended after that, the two assassins presumably leaving their last victim to bleed out as his fellow councilmen lay dead around him.

What she could make sense of was a still frame of the event that was repeatedly shown over and over again on the news, receiving even more airtime on the local stations – an image of the shorter male standing like the grim reaper behind his final victim. It was unmistakably Itachi.

He didn't care to conceal his identity anymore. He was letting the world know, and in a very big way, that he was still alive.

The rest of the Uchiha family was rocked by this revelation. Sasuke missed school for a week and when he returned, things were worse than ever before. A few idiots gave him a hard time, calling his family a bunch of terrorists and trying to pick fights. For a while, Sasuke simply walked away from them, too good and too proud to rise to the bait.

But eventually he snapped. A few kids landed themselves in the hospital.

And after that, no one accused Sasuke of being like his brother. Or at least they were smart enough not to do so to his face.

Feeling tears prickle at the corners of her eyes at the memory, Sakura rapidly blinks them away, looking up as though surprised to see herself in Suna's maximum security correctional facility, staring up at the man who had just been plaguing her thoughts.

Coughing away the sudden desire to cry, Sakura continues doggedly, "I know that he's out of the military now and living on his own. Other than that, I can't say. I have no idea what he does for a living and I never see him around Konoha anymore. He used to visit for the holidays, but he stopped coming a couple years ago."

Sakura's teeth worry her lower lip, but she no longer cares if she bleeds.

"I find it difficult to believe that you don't know anything more than that. You loved my foolish little brother," Itachi says, so openly and unexpectedly that Sakura is left with her mouth agape.

"I – I was just a little kid! It was nothing more than a silly crush," she takes a breath to compose herself, "People change. They grow up. I am no exception."

"No."

She's confused by his response, uncertain as to what it means. No, she's right? Or no, she isn't an exception?

"I've hurt my brother," Itachi's voice is low and thoughtful, his palm pressed flat against the glass and she sees the suffering in the way his fingers curl against the surface. Sakura remains silent, knowing her words aren't needed for confirmation.

"I thought he would be fine in Konoha, with our family and his friends – and you," he locks eyes with Sakura, "You were always watching after him. Keeping him and that loudmouth Uzumaki kid from getting into too much trouble…" Itachi trails off, and Sakura watches as his eyes seem to unfocus, as though he's concentrating very hard on whatever puzzle his mind is trying to solve.

"Why did he leave?" he asks at last.

Sakura's saddened eyes darken with the slightest spark of anger, but she's too exhausted by today's conversation and dark walk down memory lane to even consider yelling back.

"Why did you leave?" she asks, shrugging her shoulders, knowing it's a pointless question. As for the answer to his question, she has no more knowledge of that than she does to her own question of where Sasuke is now. Like everyone else, he had barred her out of his life shortly after news had spread of Itachi's part in a terrorist organization. She was no exception.

But once again, Itachi surprises her.

"I left because I had to."

Sakura sits up straight in her chair, uncrossing her legs as she leans forward, "What do you mean by you 'had to'?"

Sighing, Itachi turns his back to her, "That would be telling."

She watches as he trudges back to his bed with all the energy of an eighty-year-old.

_He needs to be in a hospital._

Sakura wants to slap herself at the thought. He certainly deserves some suffering. Why should he have the comfort of dying in a nice, comfortable hospital with attentive nurses after all he's done?

_But he's Sasuke's brother…_

Who Sasuke now hates. Confused and angry with herself for reasons she can't fully sort out here and now, Sakura decides they've both had enough for the day.

Stiffly and with knees crackling and popping in protest, Sakura stands and draws near the glass wall, "I'm leaving now, Uchiha-san…"she hesitates, unsure of the appropriateness of her next words, "And thank you for speaking with me."

Feeling foolish, she hurriedly turns to go, but is stopped in her tracks by Itachi's comment.

"You may call me by my first name as well, Sakura."

Without turning around, Sakura nods and then hurries back the way she came.

* * *

**Author's Note: ****Yay quick update! That's uncommon for me. Anyway, I had a lot of fun writing the scene with Ino and Sakura; it was just a simple, average scene between two best friends, but it made me happy for some reason. Plus, maybe I'm just weird, but I always thought Ino could make it as a lawyer in the real world. But that could also be a result of seeing **_**Legally Blonde**_** too many times. Who's to say? **

**As to the lovely reviewer that brought to my attention the OVA of Itachi cooking eggs, thank you! I had no idea it existed, but definitely got a chuckle out of it. Also, yes, I do believe Deidara and Sasori will be making an appearance in this story (perhaps with a few other Akatsuki). However, despite my huge soft spot for those two characters, I don't envision them with huge roles in this story, but we'll see. I wanted to do this story because of the (mostly unexplored) relationship I built between Sakura and Itachi in **_**You Give Me Fever**_**. It was ambiguous, but there was a delicate undercurrent of an alliance to it, and so I wanted to create an entirely different story that fleshed that out a little more. **

**Also, in case it's unclear, I'm writing Sakura somewhere around the age of 25, assuming she'd be an overachiever in college and med school and jump right into the work force as a resident doctor.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:**** Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto.**

**Rated M:**** Due to coarse language, violence, and some adult themes.**

* * *

"Where's Naruto when you need him?" Sakura groans in frustration as her hands tug at random cords surrounding her modest home entertainment system, hoping that by sheer will she'll manage to get her movie to play. She hasn't seen nor heard from Naruto in over two weeks since he had unexpectedly invited himself over for a scary movie night. However, she knows the adventurous goofball is traipsing around the world with his mentor, Jiraiya-sama, and is likely somewhere with poor satellite reception.

_As long as their idea of humanitarian aid doesn't involve scoping out all the women they can find…_

Still, she could use a little help with mastering the connections between the Netflix account opened up on her laptop and the blank, flat screen TV staring back at her with little encouragement.

_He used some kind of special cable to connect the two, didn't he?_

It's embarrassing for a skilled doctor like Sakura Haruno to admit she can't figure out such a simple problem that all her guy friends seem to be experts on. Recalling the typical scene found in the commons room of Shikamaru, Choji, Kiba, and Naruto's dorm suite in college, Sakura's memory roves over the packed TV stand of game consoles (most of which she hadn't known existed), the tangled mass of controllers, and the spilled towers of games and movies that always littered the floor.

Ino and Sakura hadn't frequented their place too often after Ino had innocently went to rummage around in Kiba and Naruto's shared mini fridge for a drink, only to find what the boys _claimed _was leftover pizza, but was more like a mass of gray fuzz and mold.

Grimacing at the putrid image of supposed food, Sakura evaluates who out of her contact list would be helpful in this situation.

She's too embarrassed to bother a genius like Shikamaru with such a question.

With it being dinner time, Choji is most likely occupied with matters more aligned with his priority list. Now that she thinks about it, she never did actually see Choji lift a finger to help set up the Mario Kart parties the group often engaged in.

_Too busy digging into the snacks._

Naruto is out…

_Kiba it is then._

Plunging her hand down between the couch cushions where her cell phone most often likes to vacation, Sakura flinches at the sound of someone knocking on her door, hastily backing into the edge of her coffee table. Hissing in pain and maneuvering her way through what little space the furniture in her cramped living room permits, Sakura vows that she'll start looking for a bigger place soon.

Huffing in irritation and halfheartedly smoothing her hair down as she looks through the peephole of her door, Sakura's eyes widen in alarm at the sight of a uniformed officer shifting impatiently from one foot to the other out on her doorstep.

Dread quickly pools into her stomach and all thoughts of heating up her leftover lasagna quickly flee as she unlatches the chain on her door and reluctantly opens it to greet her very unwanted visitor.

"Good evening, Sakura Haruno. I am Officer Shiranui of the Konoha Special Task Force," the man drawls, apparently bored with his current assignment. A toothpick is expertly swished from one side of his mouth to the other.

A glint of recognition flickers in Sakura's eyes. She remembers this man; a few months ago, he had walked into the clinic to have his shoulder checked out. While the nurses were busying themselves with fixing him up and bathing him in praise for being oh-so brave, he had been scheming ways to fix himself up with one (or three) of the nurses.

With disapproval pinching down the corners of her mouth, Sakura replies, "Genma Shiranui, right? I remember you. You came into Konoha General not too long ago."

Lazy, half-lidded eyes focus on Sakura's face and he treats her to a half grin, "Ah, I thought you looked familiar. Not too many doctors with pink hair; it's an odd choice."

Sakura shifts her weight to one leg, placing a hand at her hip in a posture that is all too dangerously familiar to a man like Genma Shiranui.

"It's not so much a choice if it's natural."

Sakura passed the point of polite indulgence on this particular topic long ago.

"Oh?" Genma's face lights up with mild interest.

Ignoring the keenness in his tone, Sakura cuts to the point, "So why is the Konoha police at my door at," Sakura pauses to spare a glance at her watch, "7:08 p.m.?"

Tapping her foot impatiently to help convey the message that she's a very busy woman and she hasn't got all day – and subsequently getting Ursula's song from _The Little Mermaid_ stuck in her head – Sakura straightens her posture and can't help but cross her arms despite Itachi's annoying observations floating through her head.

Genma's hands slide into his pockets as he adopts a more casual stance, "I'm sure you can hazard a guess, Doctor. The Chief has requested you keep up your visits with Itachi Uchiha. He spoke with one of the men at the Suna facility who seems to be convinced that something of use will come of it. We hope to have your full cooperation in this matter."

Sakura doesn't have to ask who it is that Fugaku Uchiha is in contact with from Suna.

_Damn you, Kankuro! Damn you!_

Clenching her jaw, Sakura wonders what the police would do if she _doesn't_ cooperate. Could they force her? She could always hire Ino to defend her –

"So, you are being asked to continue recording any new behavior that shows up as well as immediately report anything of significance he may offer regarding the activities or members of Akatsuki. Think you can do that?"

Sakura forces herself to blink, having become transfixed by the ease with which the man flicks his toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other as he talks.

_How long did it take to learn that?_

Oral fixations aside, Sakura does have a bit of a dilemma. On the one hand, she has absolutely no desire to ever see the Uchiha traitor again. He would go to trial and most likely be sentenced to death, ridding the world of one more psychotic killer. On the other hand, the strings of obligation and honor that tie her to her community are tugging at her heart, pleading with her to concede and complete this task. How much could talking with him really hurt her?

_How much could it hurt him?_ a tiny voice ponders inside her, making her pause as she considers the way Itachi's fingers clawed against the glass at hearing how Sasuke essentially cut everyone out of his life.

Does she even care?

Sighing heavily, a habit she seems to have developed recently, Sakura nods her head in defeat, "Fine. I'll do it."

"Good," Genma responds cheerfully, "We've scheduled you to make your visits every Tuesday at 2:00."

He doesn't ask if this is acceptable and Sakura feels certain in her understanding that this "request" was never really a request at all.

Fighting back the groan rising in her throat, Sakura mentally tries to calculate how she can rearrange her hours at the hospital for however long this little fiasco will carry on. Worse still, she realizes as she flips through her mental calendar that tomorrow is Tuesday.

As if reading her thoughts, Genma smiles, "Of course, the Konoha Police Department wishes to make this as convenient as possible for you. We will gladly assign someone to transport you to and from the Suna facilities so that your own vehicle and such expenses won't be necessary."

"Great," Sakura intones with all the enthusiasm of a patient about to get an injection to the buttocks.

_More like you just want to ensure I go and stay for however long you want me there. Why do I feel like the prisoner in this situation?_

"Well, that will be all, Miss Haruno. Please feel free to contact me with any questions," he hands her a business card which Sakura begrudgingly accepts, "An officer will arrive at 1:30 to pick you up from the hospital tomorrow. Have a good night."

And there's the answer to her unspoken question of whether or not they're going to give her at least a week's reprieve to mentally prepare for these little planned meetings. Likewise, she doesn't bother to question how they've already gotten their hands on her work schedule.

Stepping back into her living room with its light floral scent, but otherwise lack of personal touches, Sakura collapses in an ungraceful sprawl of arms and legs on her couch, glaring at the dark screen of her television. Once again, she'll have to settle for watching her shows on the inadequately sized screen of her laptop.

Feeling the beginnings of a headache leak into her skull, Sakura tilts her head back to rest on the back of the couch.

_Itachi Uchiha has become a major pain in the ass._

* * *

Today, the inmates holler at her just as raucously as before, though she has chosen to wear one of her lab coats over her clothes in the hopes of appearing more professional and confident and less like a sexual object for these depraved men to ogle.

Silently, she takes the seat waiting for her and opens her bag to pull out the clipboard with its fresh, blank documents waiting to be filled in with today's interaction. Clicking her ballpoint pen in a sign of readiness, she finally lifts her face to get a good look at her patient, for she has decided that the best course of action she can take to help her get through this is to assume the same kind of demeanor she would use at the hospital. She will have to separate her personal stake in this with her professional one; Itachi will have to become just like any one of her other patients.

What she knows of him will be strictly confined to his medical history and whatever he decides to tell her in these sessions. As far as she knows – as far as she will allow herself to know – he is a criminal in very poor health. There is no betrayal of Konoha, no memories of seeing him wait outside the elementary school to walk Sasuke home, and as for Sasuke, well, there can be no Sasuke. There is absolutely no connection between the two. None.

Looking into his thickly lashed eyes, she knows it would be so much easier to trick herself into believing that if they didn't look so alike.

_Get ahold of your objectivity, Sakura! You're a professional!_

"Good afternoon, Itachi-san. You have been informed that I am to see you on a weekly basis, is that correct?"

The coolness of her tone sounds so foreign, so out of place, coming from the small woman poised in her seat. Her pink hair is clasped cleanly and tightly in a clip at the back of her head, and her well-toned figure is masked underneath the unrevealing lab coat she has chosen to wear.

Itachi's critical eyes take this in as the gears of his mind tumble over one another to reason out what caused this marked difference in her conduct with him. Already, he can see she's trying to take today's meeting in a much different direction than the previous one. She wants control.

Sakura refuses to be put off by his silence, so she repeats, "Is that correct?"

Itachi shifts ever so slightly on top of his mattress.

"Yes."

In the glare of the light, Sakura can see smears on the glass where Itachi had leaned against it. Most prominent is a single handprint, almost directly in front of where she is seated.

"Good," she says crisply, marking something on one of her forms, "You're still taking your medication?"

"Yes."

"And have there been any signs of improvement or deterioration in your condition?"

Of course, Sakura has never gone into full detail with her patient concerning the extent of his illness for she was never granted permission nor the time to run an echocardiogram which she knows would have been the definitive proof she needed to confirm her diagnosis – or rather her hypothesis of what his diagnosis _should have been_. Stitching the knife wounds, guarding against infection, and replenishing his blood supply were the top priorities the doctors were charged with when the police brought in the infamous Konoha traitor.

Still, even with the mere blood test she was able to run, Sakura's hunch was reassured. Unfortunately, she hadn't had the foresight to check his blood for elevated levels of B-type natriuretic peptide until after Itachi had been deemed stable to discharge for transport to Suna. When she had, the results showed a slight elevation, but her superiors made the final decision on the matter and decided such levels were not significant enough to warrant bringing him back for further testing.

Sakura hadn't argued. Why should she fight for someone like him?

"It's been about the same," Itachi replies easily enough, resting his back against the wall. Sakura's sharp eyes and almost as sharp pen make note of his choice to remain seated throughout their talk.

Not once has he complained of how easily he tires. But the signs are evident in his occasional labored breathing and habit of requiring something to lean against and help support his weight.

Sakura's eyes narrow as his hand unconsciously reaches up to his throat before listlessly falling away, as though catching itself about to make a silly mistake. She remembers he had been admitted into the ER with his clothes badly bloodied and rumpled and a simple necklace composed of a black cord and three, hollowed out, metallic discs.

She wonders if he misses it. Of course, it's difficult to say in his particular case what happened to it. Perhaps it had been transported along with him and any other personal effects to Suna, but more than likely, it had been discarded along with his ruined clothing while the surgeons were sewing him up.

For now, the small medical staff on hand at the Suna facility is under the instruction to administer a weak dosage of morphine, in pill form, to Itachi on a daily basis. It is the minor concession Konoha General had made in response to Sakura's equally minor concern that Itachi may just have something more sinister at work within his body than stab wounds or the threat of bacterial infection.

If the blood test Sakura ran actually did reveal something significant, then Itachi most likely has pulmonary edema.

_ And if that's the case…_

Sakura worries her bottom lip.

_ The possible underlying cause may point to a congenital heart defect._

In which case, Sakura worries that his current medication really isn't the best treatment for him. Something more reliable than morphine should be employed to reduce the pressure building up in his heart and lungs due to the fluid circulating through them. The morphine is merely meant to help with shortness of breath and anxiety – petty complaints compared to what really may be wreaking havoc in Itachi's system.

Sakura pretends to write a few comments down to hide the fact that her internal debate over whether Itachi deserves true, dedicated medical consideration is taking up most of her attention.

"…Good," she replies, much too late to Itachi's answer to actually mean anything.

"You're distracted."

Sakura looks up from her lap where her dismal excuse for notes stares back at her accusingly and mostly blank.

"And I think you're lying," she throws back.

At this, Itachi almost looks miffed, his eyebrows drawing delicately together.

"What do I have to lie about?"

Sakura can't restrain the impulse to roll her eyes, "I can think of a few things. More specifically, I meant about your health. Your lack of energy, difficulty breathing, how quickly you tire and have to sit or lean against something – Surely you've noticed this in yourself."

"Ah," an irritating smirk stretches the Uchiha's lips, "So the concerned doctor makes an appearance. I was curious as to whether or not you would act that way around someone like me. I suppose I'm not surprised."

Sakura scoffs, "I'm a professional and the only interest I have in you is clinical. I won't let my prejudices against you cloud my judgment when it comes to monitoring your health. Trust me," Sakura's lips slide into a slick smile, "I want to ensure you're in full health when the judge slams the gavel on your condemned ass."

Itachi's smirk brightens into a dangerous smile as he leans forward, "You may say that, but we both know you're lying on all counts. No one wants me back in good health," he stands, his bare feet padding softly to meet her seated form behind the glass, "I'm too much of a risk for that."

Sakura frowns at the arrogance in his words…Even if they are true.

"And you will never be able to separate what you know about me from how you behave around me. Self-preservation is ingrained within our basic wiring."

_Can he get any more conceited?_

"And you will always have more than shallow clinical interest in me as long as Sasuke is my brother."

_Apparently he can._

But Sakura fights back the snarl and instead settles for a forced, tight-lipped smile as she breaks eye contact with her patient to scribble furiously for a few seconds on her clipboard. She needs to unsettle him, to show him that she is in control. He's the animal in the tank and she's the scientist that runs the experiment. He can't unnerve her no matter how hard he tries.

"Your brother again," Sakura's bright voice chirps with false cheer, "You like to bring him up, don't you? I wonder why the brother who abandoned his family is so concerned with the other? Guilt, perhaps?"

His face returns to its neutral default expression.

"Stop hoping for such pointless things. It's a waste of energy," his voice nearly raises goose bumps on her skin, so chilly is his intensity.

"Oh," Sakura decides to tone down the antagonism in her voice, but she can't help the words, "I thought you _wanted_ to talk to me about your brother? That's the whole reason I'm here."

"I thought you would know something of value."

Sakura taps the end of her pen angrily against the face of her clipboard, "I know_ plenty_ about Sasuke-kun. I know how he rode his bike everywhere around town thinking he would be the one to find you in the months that followed your disappearance. I know how he stopped playing with all his friends. I know how some of those once-friends retaliated against _him_ after your little publicity stunt," Sakura doesn't know how she keeps her voice so calm and even, but she continues, hoping it will hold, "I know how he left everything and _everyone_ behind, trying to forget about his home."

Throughout all of this, Itachi remains standing tall and impassive, a silent witness to her verbal account.

Sakura folds her hands, steepling her fingers in a manner reminiscent of her mentor though she is unaware of the action.

"What I don't know, is why his brother wants to know about him," Sakura's eyes dart searchingly over his face, and her own expression marginally softens "Do you actually care?"

Itachi's eye lids droop, dense lashes tangling together.

"Simply wishing for something to be true doesn't make it so. I see your sentimentality hasn't waned over the years."

Sakura can't decipher if he just indirectly answered her question or completely evaded it.

"What do you want with Sasuke?"

She leaves no room for skirting around the question; about this, she is adamant. Itachi will either have to outright lie or tell the truth.

_Or, he may just refuse to say anything._

Patiently, she holds his gaze, studying the shadows and reflected glint in his eyes as an artist would her subject in preparation to recapture the image from memory. Those eyes have become so ingrained in her memory that she dreams of them, even swears she catches them looking at her in that typical horror movie moment of glancing up from the sink to the bathroom mirror. Those eyes are so tragically beautiful in their depth that they confuse Sakura; how can a criminal have the captivating eyes of an innocent? It's an idiosyncrasy that one so guilty can look upon the world with such deceptive pureness.

And yet she can't stop looking. Can't stop letting him trick her, or at the very least, inspire hope within her that he may just be worth saving.

_When you think of monsters, you don't think of someone looking like him._

Again, she battles with the dilemma of submitting a request to Tsunade-sama for a different prescription.

"Nothing," is all he offers.

Frustrated, but determined to gather some information of at least minute importance, Sakura slowly bends her head to the side, relieving some of the tension with a quick series of crackles.

Changing tactics to see just how nimbly the Uchiha can think on his feet, Sakura asks, "Ok, what else would you like to know from me?"

Not missing a beat, Itachi answers with a small, casual shrug, "Perhaps it has not crossed your mind that I merely wanted some company that was a little easier on the eyes than the guards."

Sakura can't help the snort that escapes, "You're a joker, Itachi-san."

"That would be the first time someone has said so."

Sakura catches herself almost allowing a genuine smile, however small it might be, settle onto her face.

"You're…an interesting man, Itachi-san," Sakura struggles to find the correct word; she knows there's a better one lurking somewhere in her mental thesaurus, but it's the best she can come up with on the spot.

Itachi lowers his head as though in contemplation of Sakura's statement, weighing its merits based on his own private knowledge. Still, he doesn't offer his own opinion, so Sakura continues, "How were you able to make your way into the Akatsuki at such a young age?"

It's a thought that has been pivoting around in the back of her mind for years, certainly not the most imperative question she could ask, but it deserves some consideration. He had only been a high school student at the time he left, an age that had found Sakura in the awkward transitional stage of giving up her fluffy pink bedroom décor and Saturday morning cartoons in exchange for co-ed parties and make-up. Even now, Sakura questions if her own mental maturity is a match for what the Uchiha's must have been back then, nevermind what it is now.

"As you claim, I must have some qualities of interest to attract an organization such as Akatsuki. In truth, they were not difficult to find," Itachi smirks, "I didn't even have to look."

Sakura can feel her jaw slowly dropping, and quickly shuts her mouth only to open it again, "_They_ sought _you_ out?"

Itachi makes a low humming noise in affirmation, not bothering to speak on something so obvious.

"But – How?" Sakura hurriedly writes the information down, "How could they possibly know about you? You were just a kid at the time. What could you have possibly done to pique the interest of a group like that?"

"Sometimes it's not a matter of what you do, but who you know," Itachi states succinctly, though his answer leaves Sakura feeling anything but satisfied.

Worse still, even her imagination is drawing a blank on who could possibly be the one to introduce Itachi into a terrorist organization.

_Who would do that to a kid?_

And better yet, why would Itachi be interested?

Before Sakura can properly formulate a list of questions, the echo of footsteps and mild curses of inmates further up the tunnel catch her ear. Kankuro, with a grin on his face, strides down the passageway, ignoring the trash talk following him with practiced grace.

"You sure look happy for a guy guilty of making me be here," Sakura forces as much ill contempt into her tone as she can manage, though the smile crinkling her eyes ruins the effort.

"Ha," Kankuro scratches the back of his head bashfully, "Yeah, yeah, I know you're sour with me. Consider this your civic duty."

Sakura glares up at him, fingers drumming rapidly against her clipboard, clearly unimpressed.

"Ok, I know it sucks, but at least you're getting away from cases of the sniffles and sprained ankles, right?"

"I like my job, thank you," Sakura scoffs.

"Ugh, women," Kankuro groans, throwing his hands up to the ceiling as though asking for mercy, "You're almost as bad as Temari. Look, forgive me for my prior transgressions, but I've come to relieve you of your misery," he bows as though a butler, his arms swooping in the direction back to the entrance, bidding Sakura to take her leave.

"Well, why didn't you say so sooner?" Sakura quips, taking her time to neatly gather her things and pack them away into her bag.

Itachi remains a passive observer to their little scene, but Sakura feels as though she can't just snub his existence by leaving without some kind of parting word.

"I'll be back same time next week, Itachi-san," Sakura swings her bag over her shoulder.

"I look forward to it."

Dark eyes trail after the Suna officer and the pink-haired doctor at his side, her head bobbing enthusiastically as they converse.

"She hasn't changed at all…"

* * *

**Author's Note:**** I don't have too much to say or give away as to what you can expect in upcoming chapters. I will say that I've already written the ending (as I have a habit of doing), so it's just a matter of navigating all the little plot twists to get there, most of which I haven't even thought of yet. Oh, the potential…**

**I still haven't decided if I prefer writing short little chunks like this compared to the behemoth-sized chapters in **_**You Give Me Fever**_** that ranged anywhere from 14,000 to 24,000 words. Anyway, if you have the time, reviews always give me a smile. Let me know what you like, don't like, want to see happen, or any random thoughts you have floating around in your head. **

**Thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:**** Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto.**

**Rated M:**** Due to coarse language, violence, and some adult themes.**

* * *

"You look exhausted," Itachi's mellow voice observes.

"Your perceptive prowess astounds me yet again," Sakura remarks sarcastically, eyeing his hunched over figure, "You look a little worse for wear yourself."

It's true, and not merely a tactic to divert attention away from her own ragged state of appearance. For whatever reason, her peculiar patient has opted for one of the corners near the front of his cell, his temple pressed against the glass and looking for all intents and purposes to be on the verge of sleep.

_And still he has glossier hair than me!_

Rubbing her burning, sleep-deprived eyes, Sakura doesn't bother to stifle her yawn. Manners are for the well-rested. Idly, she toys with the idea of asking Baki to send someone for coffee, despite having already downed two cups today.

"Are you feeling any worse?"

"No, but I didn't get much rest last night. Someone up front was being…disruptive."

A wry smile works its way onto Sakura's face. However, it is a part of Itachi's prison life that she hasn't considered. Her thoughts trail back to several years ago when Kiba had whined about Naruto's obnoxious snoring problem; though she supposes whatever disruption Itachi is referring to was probably a bit more alarming and maniacal in nature.

_Still, I wonder what the Uchiha thinks about having to deal with bunkmates._

Privately, she snickers at the thought.

"Why are you so tired?"

His question catches her off guard, and though her ears are alert for insincerity or ulterior motives, she catches none.

"Ah, just work," she waves it off dismissively, though in truth, yesterday had been one of her bad days. She had had to break the news to a little girl's parents that their child has cancer. Clinging to her husband, the mother could only repeat that there was no way that could be – her baby was turning ten years old at the end of the month.

As if age has anything to do with something as malicious as cancer. As if it should have the reasoning capacity to discern between who it attacks based on how many candles they've blown out.

Sakura could only discuss treatment options to help prepare the family for what is to come, not that anything can truly prepare anyone, especially the little girl in this case, for something like what she is about to face.

She had stayed up most of the night fretting over that little girl. She'd be spending her birthday in the children's wing of Konoha General.

_How I loathe Mondays._

To make matters worse, these weekly meetings have required Sakura to upset her routine schedule at the hospital, and in order to resolve the problem, she has taken to starting her Tuesdays two hours earlier than usual in order to make up for the time missed while she plays therapist in Suna. She wants to be angry with Itachi for interfering in her professional life, but really, it's just as much (if not more so) the fault of the police for placing this burden on her shoulders.

_Maybe Tuesdays are the new Mondays?_

Itachi, forced to angle his head back in order to meet her gaze from his seated position on the floor, does not refute her skimpy answer though the straight line of his mouth dips in a slight frown. As she studies his appearance for further signs of physical distress, she notes that the tear troughs lining his face seem to be more pronounced than usual. The fact that he's sitting on the floor with his knees pulled into his chest and – once again – leaning into the glass, has the doctor within her worried.

She doesn't know what prompts her to say it, but she does, "See, there's this little girl that I diagnosed with cancer yesterday. She's only nine."

Sakura swallows, wondering if Itachi is even paying attention to something like this that has nothing to do with him.

"She has a chance at making it, statistically speaking," Sakura looks down at her hands gripping the top edge of the clipboard and curses the way her voice wobbles, "But, I – I don't think…"

She doesn't say it. She can't. Because if the doctor admits it, how in the world can that little girl and her parents cling to the hope that she can fight it? She can't take that away from them because it might end up being all they have.

She's the doctor. She has to fight for her patient.

Dully, so weakly that it barely registers over the background noise in her head, something points out that Itachi is her patient too.

She needs to speak with Tsunade-sama as soon as she returns to the hospital.

As for Itachi, she isn't sure what she expects from him, save perhaps a reprimand for being so pathetically emotional over a patient she doesn't even really know. Maybe she expects nothing. Abstaining from talking is certainly in accord with his usual behavior, though he has proven to be chattier with her in particular. But whatever she expects, it isn't what he offers.

He nods with the faintest of motions, and Sakura is unsure if it is meant to signify he heard her, or if he's merely conferring with himself on some inward conversation.

But when he does speak to her, Sakura holds her breath.

"However much time she has left, she'll cherish it more than you or I will cherish that same parcel of time. For many of us, we never get to see the expiration date placed on our own time and we either accept that it will be left as the last great mystery, or we steadfastly ignore its inevitability. However meager her time has been, she'll have the awareness to find value in it," Itachi shifts uncomfortably, turning his head away to once again press it against the glass wall, "She'll find peace."

The conflicting mix of frustration and anger that has been building up within her since late last night begins to recede like the ebbing of the tide as she silently accepts his statement for all its validity. And with it, she almost feels a slight weight being lifted from her back. It's funny that a man responsible for extinguishing so many lives should be able to reflect on such a topic so wisely.

Or maybe it's not funny at all, maybe it makes perfect sense.

"Thank you," she says shyly, a bit self-conscious that he's the one acting more like a therapist.

It's the kind of discussion she has wanted to have several times when such cases land in her lap, cases that can obviously only end in a tear-jerking conclusion for all involved. And though she holds it together while at work, compartmentalization can only last for so long before walls come crumbling down and she has a good cry in the privacy of her own home. On more than one occasion has she stopped and shuffled her feet undecidedly in front of Tsunade's office door, mentally debating the pros and cons of confiding in the woman she looks up to and who has given her such a leg up in the medical world.

So, to preserve her image and reputability, Sakura would turn tail without knocking on the door. And perhaps it has been for the best as she knows her mentor copes with a drink here and there which is not really the best course of action. She has considered confiding in Ino or her parents, but they would just try to do what they could to get her mind off things and make her happy again as soon as possible, which is nice, but not what she wants.

Sakura wants to hear someone else's view of her failure. And maybe, _just maybe_, she can be convinced that it's not always within her power – or anyone's for that matter – to save every sick and broken soul she comes across. And maybe, with time, she can learn to live with the fact that in a profession that promotes health and well-being and _life_, death shadows everything that can be accomplished.

But the point of it all is to try. To fight.

Now as she watches Itachi, her fingers clench tightly around the page she scribbled on over the weekend when the Chief of Police decided to pester her with yet another phone call. He had requested that Sakura ask several specific questions during her next visit and just scanning down the list, she knows not a single one of them will have an easy answer. She doesn't want to ask them, not when Itachi has been this easy-going and not when he looks so utterly exhausted…

_Sick, even…_

She sighs, guilt settling into the place where moments ago, Itachi's honest reply had lifted a growing weight. She knows neither of them are feeling up to an exhausting round of Q and A.

"Itachi-san, I truly am sorry for this, but the Chief of Police," she is apprehensive of acknowledging that it's his own father, "Has requested I ask you a few specific questions that are of interest to the police investigation."

He nods once, not bothering to ask why Sakura feels the need to apologize. Still, his gaze remains down at the floor, though his eyes may very well be closed. Sakura only has the view of his profile which is mostly obscured by his hair as she drags her chair closer to his corner of the cell.

She wishes the Suna police would stop placing it front and center, and yet so unnecessarily far from the glass wall. It makes everything feel so staged and ridiculous. Not to mention, she's not some child at the zoo that needs to be reminded not to tap the glass lest she distress the animals.

Nodding to herself, determined to plough through this as painlessly as possible, Sakura starts at the top of the list, "What were your duties in the Akatsuki?"

Personally, she found this question to be stupid when Fugaku had first dictated it. Of course the police and many of those who are savvy on international news, or those who have spare change to buy a newspaper, are aware of what crimes Itachi and his group are responsible for. Perhaps, this question simply made its way onto the list in order to obtain an early admission from Itachi that he's guilty and knows it.

_Still, it's very pointless._

"To do whatever was asked of me."

Stunned by his willingness to answer, but more so by its implied submissiveness, Sakura records his response. If the Akatsuki could manipulate a man like Itachi, who else could they have working for them?

_Truly, a frightening thought._

"Where is the Akatsuki stationed?"

Itachi tilts his head back and at last Sakura is given an unobstructed view of his face as he turns slightly to look at her with sleep-heavy eyes. She has little hope of a clear, satisfying answer to this question, and her prediction is proven correct.

"That I can't say even if I was inclined to. I've traveled extensively for Akatsuki and it is not the kind of organization to regularly hold meetings so everyone can be in the same place at once. It would be too risky."

Sakura nods as she writes, knowing that the Chief will be less than impressed with the answers she's coaxing from his son.

"How many of you are there?" Sakura feels the familiar twinge of pain as she bites too deeply into her lip. This particular matter is something she is interested in as well.

_To know just how many monsters might be hiding out there amongst the regular population...Waiting. Plotting._

"Again," Itachi sighs tiredly, pushing his bangs out of his eyes, "I do not have accurate information on that. It also depends on what you define as a member of Akatsuki. Those who work from _within _it, or those who work _for_ it? Or are both parties equally liable for the actions of the group?"

"Wha – ?" Sakura begins to ask for clarification, but Itachi surprisingly cuts her off, making Sakura wonder just how tired he really is.

"At its heart is a small, core group of individuals responsible for the most significant and sensitive of tasks. I was among them, but did not rely on my own network of subordinates unlike some of my other…colleagues," he settles on a term after a moment's consideration.

Keen eyes rove over his face, noting the light sheen of sweat on his forehead and the shadows under his eyes. She needs to wrap this up. Glancing down at her chicken scratch that had become remarkably worse through med school, Sakura counts three more questions in need of answers before she can leave Itachi to his poor excuse of a bed and get back to her own place at the hospital for a quick nap in her office.

_And then four more hours of work._

Inhaling deeply through her nose to restore tranquility and patience, Sakura asks, "Who is in charge of the organization?"

Now, she can plainly see and hear the effort with which he breathes. But before she can ask if he'd like to stop, Itachi replies, "That, I will not answer. Even if what I know is his true name, I respect the man's intentions too much to give it away. During our brief meetings, members typically addressed him simply as 'Leader-sama.'"

Sakura, now confused as to what ideals this leader holds that would move Itachi to such a strong conviction of loyalty, eyes the last two questions skeptically. These are the questions that Sakura views as more self-indulgent for the Chief's own peace of mind rather than necessary in tracking down the Akatsuki members still at large. And while Itachi has been cooperative in playing along with this flimsy excuse for an interrogation, his answers haven't exactly provided too much insight into the inner workings of Akatsuki. Surely, he'll be even more ambiguous in his responses to these questions that are more personally aimed at him.

"Why did you join the Akatsuki, Itachi-san?" Sakura keeps her voice low and gentle, hoping to incite cooperation.

For a few seconds, only the labored breathing of her patient meets her ears, but after a light cough to clear his throat, he states, "We do what we think we must," his gaze shifts away from her once more, "I had my reasons and I'm not going to justify them."

_Well, that's about what I was expecting._

It's funny how his personality has become so familiar to her, but perhaps it is predictable because, in many ways, he reminds her so much of his little brother. Again, almost subconsciously, his hand rises to his collar bone where his necklace once rested.

Sadly, she looks down at the last question, running her tongue over her worn bottom lip. Conflicting emotions churn within her, but she forces her doubts away and decides to act.

"Ok, just one last question," she pauses, hoping that statement will invigorate him at the thought of this almost being over, but also weary of the consequences of asking him the last item on her checklist, "Did you murder Shisui Uchiha?"

At this, Itachi's head snaps to the side so abruptly, Sakura nearly chokes on her own spit. Turning his body to follow suit and sitting cross-legged with arms stretched out behind him to lean back on, something cold and deadly swirls in his eyes, and Sakura, for the first time, wishes the glass wall is just a little thicker. And has steel bars.

Eyes wide and muscles tensed, Sakura waits, the pen in her hand imperceptibly shaking.

"No."

Though it's just one, seemingly harmless word, it's packed with paragraphs worth of resentment and Sakura does her best to verbally back pedal away from this dangerous fury that has apparently been lying dormant within Itachi for some time.

"O-Ok, that's all I – the police needed to know. I – I think we're done for today. Thank you for your cooperation," Sakura babbles with false enthusiasm, quickly rising from her chair and gathering her notes into her arms without properly putting them away in her bag. Something like a warning bell goes off within her – old instincts, perhaps – and she knows criminals that have done the sort of things Itachi is guilty of are prone to volatile outbursts.

_Let the guards deal with him now. I'm not getting paid enough for this._

She isn't getting paid at all.

"_Sakura_."

Pink hair swings across her vision as her head jerks up from her fumbling, hasty attempt at collapsing her chair to politely bring back to Baki.

Itachi, now on his feet with a stern glint in his eyes towers over her partly bent form, and something in Sakura regrets moving this close to his cell despite the wall between them.

"Please, thank my father for his stimulating questions," she doesn't miss the derisiveness in his tone, "But next time, ask that he delivers them instead of a little, pink-haired girl drowning in a lab coat."

The rise and fall of Itachi's own chest is matched by that of Sakura as self-righteous indignation swells within her, demanding to be set loose on the bastard that dares to even hint she's too young and incompetent to get the job done. But just as she imagines unsheathing her claws like a ferocious lioness, Itachi falls forward, managing to catch himself as one arm shoots out, palm slapping against the glass and sliding down with the weight of his body.

"Itachi!"

All anger evaporates away as Sakura drops her notes and places her own hands against the glass.

But Itachi is unable to answer, between coughing and gasping for breath, there is little time for talking. Adrenaline courses through Sakura as Itachi sinks to his knees, one hand pressed uselessly to the middle of his chest. The time to act on behalf of her unwanted patient is now. She can no longer wait until she's back in Konoha.

"Baki!" Sakura dashes out into the middle of the passageway, waving her arms for attention despite the unobstructed view between them, "I need an ambulance ASAP! Itachi Uchiha needs urgent medical attention."

Perhaps it's the genuine panic in her voice that doesn't cause him to question her, or perhaps because Itachi is too important of a source to lose so suddenly, but for whatever reason, Baki doesn't hesitate to pick up the phone at his station and two guards are almost immediately dashing through the entrance to the tunnel, making a straight line for Sakura who hurries back to the glass wall, looking desperately in at her patient.

"We're taking you to the hospital now, Uchiha-san. Just hold on!"

She doesn't know if he's listening to her. Leaning forward on both hands, he works to rid himself of the substance choking him. A mixture of saliva and mucous is coughed up, and Sakura only feels a minor surge of relief as the first two guards, followed soon after by three more, hustle into the Uchiha's cell, bringing him none too gently to his feet as they restrain his hands and fetter his legs, restricting Itachi's movement to small, slow steps.

However, the Uchiha appears to be in no condition to make an escape as he continues to wheeze and struggle for air. Just as Sakura begins to think there's no way they can expect Itachi to walk out of the tunnel, much less up the flight of steps to ground level, Itachi's legs give out beneath him and it takes two guards to keep him from crashing to the ground entirely. Dazed and unresponsive to the taunts and shrieks of the inmates rattling the bars of their cells, Itachi's dark eyes struggle to stay focused and Sakura sighs with relief as a team of paramedics are allowed through the tunnel's entrance, a gurney being wheeled between them.

_You're not going to die on us yet. You have too much to answer for._

* * *

Shisui Uchiha, or rather his remains, had been found some time after Itachi's desertion although Shisui himself had gone missing weeks before. For a time, it had been thought the two incidents were related; both boys had been kidnapped by someone looking to get a huge pay day for their safe return. However, this idea was dropped about midway through the months spent scouring all of Konoha and the surrounding cities for Fugaku Uchiha's eldest son. While scouting around the river banks along one of Konoha's borders, police had found an arm and later a shoe-clad foot that was eventually identified as that of Shisui. Nothing more was ever found despite the efforts of the search and rescue team dredging the river bottom. Nature had taken away what was left of him.

While Shisui's parents were finally given some closure on the matter, Itachi's were not.

Even now, Sakura remembers seeing Mikoto Uchiha at the supermarket, looking as though she wasn't even aware of where she was as she stared sightlessly at the produce displays.

After months and eventually a few years had passed, the family could not pronounce Itachi as dead. And they wouldn't have to.

The phone call he made to the police department and the subsequent leak that should have never happened got people talking. The kind of people who liked drama, who craved gossip, and who adored the misfortune of others. And if such people were to ever aim such ill intent toward a family, a powerful one such as the Uchiha was a tempting prospect. Rumors went around Konoha that Itachi had murdered his cousin, reasons for why were never given. But wasn't it suspicious that the boy went missing and shortly after, Itachi disappeared himself? Perhaps, the guilt was too great for him to bear? He did, after all, chop his best friend and cousin into little pieces to feed the fishies.

Even as a kid, Sakura hadn't been fooled into believing the stupid gossip. That would mean Sasuke's brother was insane and no one associated with Sasuke could be bad, right?

Still, as Itachi's name gained infamy around the world, fuel was only added to the Shisui murder mystery. Either Itachi had killed him or their disappearances had been oddly timed, yet separate incidents.

Sakura pours herself a cup of water from the plastic pitcher on Itachi's bedside table. He had been given something to help him sleep upon Sakura's insistence and now she waits for him to finally stir. Yesterday's scare at the prison had prompted Sakura to have a talk with Tsunade about upping her patient's treatment, although, technically, his medical care is now in the hands of Suna's medical staff.

Having taken the rest of the day off yesterday, Sakura had been left to ponder her conversation with Itachi and review her messy notes, trying to jam a mental puzzle piece into a place it just didn't fit. She had had to make a call to Ino, leaving her wallet feeling rather empty inside today after a round of coffee and pastries at some swanky, overpriced café. But now, innocently opened up to a particular page on Itachi's night stand is the result of her efforts: an old Konoha High School yearbook.

As junior high students, just dipping their toes into the realm of boys and catty gossip, Ino and Sakura had turned to yearbooks in search of cute classmates to pine over after exhausting their resources of magazines and celebrity crushes. At the time, Ino had somehow come into possession of her older cousin's yearbook from when she was in high school. Sakura had never met Shisui in real life, but she knew the name and certainly recognized the face as one belonging to the Uchiha family. Ino had thought him handsome, but their gushing was subdued due to the then current gossip concerning his murder and Itachi's disappearance.

Now, Sakura glances over at the glossy page of the yearbook; the photos aren't even in color as that hadn't become common practice until she had become a high school student. The boy's face is strong in structure, with a well-defined jaw line and straight nose, yet the paleness inherent to all Uchihas gives him an almost delicate appearance. His eyes are just as beautifully shaped and dark as Ita –

_What the hell am I thinking?_

Looking over at her patient, Sakura twists her mouth in contemplation.

_I mean, I can admit he's handsome, right? Purely from an observational, aesthetic viewpoint._

She looks out the window behind her, sun beating warmly on her face as it nears early afternoon.

_Come on, I'm not waiting around all day for you to get your beauty rest. I didn't take the day off for nothing!_

One thought has been turning over and over on itself as it tumbles along the gears in Sakura's mind, begging to be resolved: How did Itachi already know of his cousin's murder?

There had been no confusion over Sakura's question, no pause or shock over using the word "murder." He had known.

Yet, if Itachi told Sakura the truth and he didn't kill Shisui, how did he know he was dead, much less that he had been killed? When Itachi disappeared, or rather, left, an investigation was still underway as to what had happened to his missing cousin. The police hadn't known they would be looking for a body; as far as anyone knew, it was a kidnapping or, less likely, a runaway case.

_But Itachi already knew._

Of course, there are multiple ways he could have eventually got his hands on that information. An online obituary, perhaps. Word of mouth.

_Or_, Sakura cringes at the thought, _maybe he liked to visit the Konoha cemetery while he wasn't off doing terrorist things. _

Still, it seems unlikely.

Could he have possibly known his cousin was dead before he left Konoha?

Sakura shakes her head, perplexed.

_Enough waiting around._

Walking quietly to the side of his bed, noting the handcuffs chaining him to the guardrail, Sakura bends down slightly, softening her voice so as not to startle him, "Time to wake up, Itachi-san."

The cacophony of machinery near Itachi's headboard bursts into a frenzy of beeping as his heart rate picks up and Sakura finds herself being pulled down face-to-face with the Uchiha as his hand clamps around her throat.

* * *

**Author's Note:**** So, this chapter should have answered one reviewer's question concerning Shisui. Sadly, yes, the poor guy is killed in my story as well as the original storyline. Dude can't catch a break. But, no, the Uchiha massacre did not occur. **

**I'm excited to get to a few scenes I have planned out in the future involving other Akatsuki. Deidara and Sasori will definitely be making an appearance, but other than that, the others will more than likely just be mentioned in passing unless I'm inspired to give them bigger roles.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:**** Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto.**

**Rated M:**** Due to coarse language, violence, and some adult themes.**

* * *

_Who the hell did his restraints?! Too much slack!_

"It – Ita – Itachi-san! Let – " but Sakura's already muted voice is unable to force out a syllable more as the clamp-like grip on her windpipe squeezes to nearly unbearable pressure.

_I can't believe it. He's actually going to kill me._

Perhaps, if her mind wasn't in such a chaotic frenzy, she would ask herself why it seems so logical that a terrorist wouldn't think of laying a menacing hand on her, but between digging her nails into the backs of his hands and kicking at the metal bedframe for no other purpose than to alert someone to her situation, Sakura is unable to rationalize much.

Though her rapidly depleting oxygen supply would beg to differ, it only takes a matter of eight or ten seconds before the security guard positioned outside the door comes barreling in and quickly disentangles Itachi's hold on her throat, shouting short orders at Sakura to back away.

A nurse, shorter than Sakura though at least twice her age, comes scurrying in with wide eyes magnified behind thick, tortoiseshell-framed glasses and a needle poised and ready in her small hand.

"W-Wait," Sakura barely manages to force the sound from her mouth, wincing at the rough feel of grit and gravel grinding against the inner walls of her abused trachea. Lightly massaging her throat to relieve the sensation, she raises her other hand in a sign to stop.

She can't have him sedated. Not when she has something this important to ask him.

The nurse looks impatiently between her and the guard who has taken it upon himself to fix the amount of freedom given to Itachi's arms, clearly seeking some sort of immediate instruction. She hadn't run like a mad woman for nothing.

For his part, Itachi lies back against his pillows, compliant and lax and sickly pale. His eyes, dark and frustratingly unreadable as per usual, hold Sakura's. It is this levelness that prompts her forward.

"That won't be necessary," she indicates with a slight incline of the chin toward the nurse's hand still clutching the minor tranquilizer.

The nurse, clearly ruffled that a girl looking barely old enough to buy her own alcohol (with _pink_ hair no less), has the audacity and superiority complex to dole out medical decisions for a patient so unpredictable and precarious, opens her frowning mouth in protest, but the guard quickly intervenes on Sakura's behalf.

"Dr. Haruno has been tasked with keeping up on Itachi Uchiha's condition and evaluating any changes that may come up," his eyes slide over to Sakura's poker face, the clear omission of her encouraged interrogation of said Uchiha hanging between them, "She is qualified and should be made aware of anything that may occur regarding the…patient."

Sakura exhales through her nose loudly, nodding her head once in appreciation toward the guard. Already, she has sensed the faint traces of hostility and watchfulness of the nurses staffing the Suna hospital Itachi had swiftly been carted off to. Whether it has to do her with her young age or some misplaced competitiveness between the hospitals of Konoha and Suna, she couldn't say.

"I'm to blame; I woke him up too roughly and it startled him," Sakura supplies to the still unconvinced nurse, hoping Itachi's male pride will stay silent on the matter of him being scared awake by a petite, pink-haired woman.

To her relief, he doesn't argue the finer points of her excuse and instead adds his own apology for the waiting ears of the nurse and guard hovering at his bedside.

"My apologies, Sakura. I was not fully aware of what was going on."

To his credit, Sakura has to admit the Uchiha looks sincerely abashed as he lowers his gaze.

"It's fine," Sakura directs her attention to the guard, "If you're alright with it, I would like to discuss a few matters with Itachi-san in private."

With a nod of admission from the guard and his subtle, yet firm herding of the nurse out of the room, Sakura is left with her charge who stares back at her, blank-faced and waiting.

_What a lot of fuss for nothing. Ugh, I'm starting to sound like Shikamaru._

"Care to indulge me on what that was for?" Sakura's voice lowers to a near hiss, as she nears Itachi's side, taking up the seat next to his nightstand.

"Only if you see fit in telling me why you're lounging around in my hospital room watching me sleep," Itachi replies without missing a beat.

Pink warmth tinges Sakura's cheeks as she huffs indignantly and swipes the plastic cup off the nightstand to take a drink of water, if only to prolong her answer and cause Itachi some degree of annoyance. Of course, she knows men like Itachi don't give into such lower levels of petty emotion like irritation. She'd have to do better than that.

"Alright, but you first," Sakura concedes, crossing and then uncrossing her arms in favor of folding her hands atop her lap.

Itachi's eyes track the movement and she wonders how he can constantly maintain such a level of alertness throughout every waking moment. It has to be exhausting. At this thought, their eyes connect and Itachi admits, "It's as you said. You woke me too roughly and I was surprised by it. I was not fully awake when I reacted."

_And by 'reacted,' you mean put me in a lethal choke-hold._

"I hardly think leaning down to gently whisper that you needed to wake up would be considered as too rough," Sakura arches an eyebrow, partly in amusement.

However, Itachi does not rise to the bait, as she knew he wouldn't, "I am sorry if I hurt you."

Sakura restrains the impulse to touch her throat. More than likely, she'd have some questionable bruises blooming through her skin to remind her of this little escapade.

Itachi's eyes land on the opened pages of the Konoha year book and Sakura wonders if this is the first time he's noticed its presence. She doubts it.

Looking from the old, glossy pages and back to Sakura, Itachi attempts to maneuver himself to a more comfortable, upright position. Sakura doesn't miss the resistance of the straps pulling back against Itachi's efforts. She almost feels a twinge of pity. Almost.

"Care to explain what business you have with me today, Sakura?"

"Of course," Sakura stands, her heels quietly tapping across the tile as she leaves Itachi's bedside to retrieve his water from atop the modest-sized dresser across the room. She hadn't missed the way his eyes lingered on her own cup, or the way he ran his tongue over chapped lips.

Extending her arm down, she holds out the cup for Itachi to grasp the straw between his lips, not a moment's hesitation or reluctance on his part.

_Either he's not bothered by his current situation or he's got a lot of survivor's instinct._

Sakura suspects it's a great deal of both.

"I'm a rather curious person by nature," Sakura begins conversationally, taking her seat once Itachi has had his fill, "And while I had no part in formulating the questions I was instructed to ask you during our last meeting, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't interested in what you had to say."

Sakura watches carefully for any sign of recognition in his features, any shift toward the rage that burned quietly at the close of their last interview.

His eyes merely reflect her own image.

"And let's be frank," she continues, propping an elbow on her armrest and leaning her chin over to rest in her palm, "The police aren't going to be too impressed with your answers. You're sly, Itachi-san," Sakura's eyes narrow, "You're compliant and cooperative. The ideal criminal in custody, some might say. But you hold onto the important information. You're not going to confess to me, or probably to anyone for that matter, all the little secrets of your organization. You supplied just enough information to count as answering."

"While I appreciate the flattery, I assume you're getting to the point?" Itachi edges, though his expression remains as passive as ever.

"Yes," Sakura can't deny the tiny amount of triumph she feels in revealing it, "Because despite your best efforts, you unintentionally told me something important. Something I'm not even sure the police would have picked up on right away."

She waits, for what exactly, she can't say. Perhaps she half expects Itachi to launch out of his bed and strangle her into silence forever.

But not a single muscle moves or twitches out of place. The calm rise and fall of his chest is the only response Sakura has provoked from her patient.

"I asked you if you had a hand in murdering your cousin, Shisui. You said no," Sakura speaks clearly and slowly, watching his face intently.

The faintest of twitches moves the corner of his mouth, but he offers no retort.

Persistent in her efforts to get some sort of admission out of the stubbornly passive Uchiha, Sakura continues, "You weren't shocked by hearing of his murder, yet you left Konoha before Shisui was found. So I think, either you _did_ have something to do with it, or despite your mercenary-for-hire tendencies, you continued keeping tabs on your family. _Or_," Sakura's lips pull into a self-satisfied smirk, "You already knew he had been murdered before you even left. _That's_ what I'm placing my bet on."

Leaning back in her chair now that her great sleuthing skills have been demonstrated, Sakura can't help but feel something is off in the way Itachi sits so quietly, so rigidly.

"So the doctor thinks herself a detective now? You're clever, Sakura, I'll give you that. But I think you're so in over your head you don't even realize you're drowning."

It's more than she was expecting from him. And the frostiness in his tone…

_Bbbrrrr, someone needs to turn up the thermostat._

"What are you saying, Itachi-san? Are you threatening me?" The beginnings of a scowl contort her smug expression into something decidedly more confused.

"If that's what it takes to make you back off from things you have no business poking around in, then _yes_," Itachi emphasizes, his dark eyes glittering with a determined ferocity, "You can take it as that."

"Well," Sakura chirps, not without a hint of mockery, "Lucky for me, there isn't much you can do in your current situation to back up your alleged threats."

"Sakura," Itachi sighs, and she doesn't miss the weariness that escapes in that short breath, "It's for the best that you know next to nothing about me, about my organization, or even about the events surrounding Shisui's death. Leave that mess to the police, for your own sake."

All lingering vestiges of playful combativeness and eagerness to trump Itachi with her deductive prowess ebbs away at this advice. Last night and earlier this morning, she had been too much inside her own head trying to sort out mental puzzles and figure out what had bothered her so much about her interview with Itachi – so much, so that she never stopped to question the drive that pushed her to go digging into matters she couldn't get herself out of if she discovered something not meant for her eyes. And something like that, if she was to unwittingly come across it, is bound to exist in the circumstances which link Itachi to the Akatsuki. Whether or not the local police happen to be prepared for something of this magnitude is a different matter entirely. What Sakura knows for certain, however, is that she definitely isn't.

_What am I doing?_

But, even as she sees the validity in Itachi's warning, there is one thing that prompts her to keep sticking her nose where it doesn't belong.

The memory of a pale, dark-haired boy furiously pedaling his mountain bike up and down every street in the city couldn't be erased.

The first time she had called out to Sasuke as he sped past her house, he barely turned to acknowledge her waving with a look so fierce it stopped her mid-sentence. The second time she caught him riding down her street she was ready, her bike pitched over on its side on the front lawn. She asked if she could join him; she really did want to help. Sasuke had slowed down that time, but declined the offer, throwing in an extra "You're really annoying" just to make sure she stayed put.

The third time had been the charm, as it supposedly tends to be. She had been sitting out in the yard, sprawled out on a beach towel, trying to look for all the world like she was too far into her book to notice the whirring of bicycle tires going past. As minimally interested as possible, she had glanced up from the pages of her social studies textbook to see her classmate making his daily rounds. This time she had curbed the enthusiasm wishing to bubble forth, and had offered him a water bottle from the small cooler next to her towel. He didn't bother to ask why Sakura had found it necessary to pack a cooler to sit out on her own front lawn with, but he did (much to her delight) stop and accept the drink with a short "Thanks" and what Sakura believed counted as a smile.

Back then, that's all she had wanted, all she had needed to be happy.

"I appreciate your concern," Sakura begins thoughtfully, as though mulling something over, "But, does that mean I'm correct in assuming you knew about your cousin's murder before you left?" she leans forward in earnest, "You know who did it?"

"Will you stop asking more questions if I answer that?"

He's clearly frowning now, and Sakura can't help but feel like an obstinate child constantly asking "Why?" and "How?"

Still, she believes Itachi deserves her honesty, though she isn't entirely sure why she feels that way or if she should. Though he has held back some details that the police are certainly after, she can't say she has detected any dishonesty in Itachi.

"Probably not," Sakura smiles sheepishly, "But I can compromise with the guarantee that I'll leave you alone for the rest of the day."

Itachi leans back into his pillows, his chin tilting up as he regards the rough-textured ceiling in silent debate with himself.

"Perhaps that is the best I can hope for," he says at last, "Alright, Sakura, I'll tell you. But I am serious when I say this is information you're better off without. Do you still wish to know?"

"Itachi-san," Sakura's eyebrow arches in amusement, "I wouldn't know you to be anything other than serious. Go ahead," she gesticulates with her hand for him to proceed.

"Shisui was murdered before he was ever reported as missing. There was no attempt at kidnapping, contrary to the early speculation. And yes," his eyes meet Sakura's, answering before she can ask the question lingering on her lips, "I know the people responsible for my cousin's death. There is an underbelly to this city, Sakura, did you know that?"

He notes the way she swallows, wordless and attentive to this news.

"What do you mean by that? Like gangs? Drugs and prostitution?"

"Yes and no. All of that is inherent to civilization, especially to prosperous cities like Konoha. Man cannot be separated from his vices. But other than your list of usual suspects, there is something larger and more significant at work here. Something that doesn't need to rely on darkness and dank holes to hide in, but can operate in the daylight behind a benign façade."

It takes Sakura a moment to thoroughly chew on this new information, and her thought process slips into spoken words occasionally as she dissects Itachi's statements.

"Something that can act in the daylight…and wears a mask to make themselves look good…Are we talking politics here, Itachi-san?" Sakura asks incredulously.

"Precisely," his tone is bland, but Sakura detects mild distaste in the light scrunch of his eyebrows.

"Hold on," Sakura waves her hand flippantly near her head as if to dispel baffling thoughts, "You're saying your cousin got on the bad side of some public figure here in Konoha? But he was only in high school at the time, how could he have even been on the radar of anyone like that?"

Itachi tsks his tongue in disapproval, "That wasn't part of the agreement. I've answered your questions to an acceptable extent."

_Acceptable my ass._

Sakura grinds her teeth, but forces her lips into a polite, albeit forced, smile.

"Of course, I'll leave you to rest," Sakura replies with all the pep she can muster despite the fact that she is mentally clawing off Itachi's small smirk. Gathering the yearbook and her purse, she heads for the open door that leads out into the bustling hallways of the Suna hospital, but hesitates on making an actual departure.

"I was told by one of the nurses that you've been unconscious since they brought you into the ER so I assume you have yet to be made aware of your condition...Though I'm sure you realize it's not good," Sakura frowns slightly at Itachi's reaction…or lack thereof.

"Your lungs are accumulating fluid which is interfering with your breathing, as you might guess…This can be caused by several different factors, but in your case, the problem lies in your heart. Your left ventricle is being overworked and weakened, making it unable to pump out enough of the blood it receives from your lungs. As a result, pressure is building up in your heart. You were previously being treated with morphine pills while in prison, but you're now going to be started on a new regimen of medication to reduce the pressure. It's a diuretic, so, uh, be prepared for frequent bathroom trips."

Sakura is thankful for her years of schooling that allow her to say that with a straight face (and only the slightest impulse to blush). There's just something about the stoic, young man that leaves her feeling young and foolish, as though she'll never fully grow up to be as world-wise as he is now.

Although, considering the events that have brought him up to this point, she supposes it might be for the best.

"Thank you for informing me," Itachi answers politely. No one had turned up the light from its dim setting over Itachi's headboard, but by the looks of it, he'll be falling back to sleep shortly after she leaves.

"I'll be checking in with you soon. Have a good day."

And with that, the young doctor stalks past the security guard, acknowledging him with a curt nod. She plans to head home to put all of this out of her mind for the remainder of her day off. She'll take a soak in the bathtub with a book and maybe a glass of wine like she had always thought about doing, and then she'll spend the rest of the day watching brain-numbing reality TV shows and eating junk food or anything that can be easily microwaved.

_Sounds about perfect._

* * *

Itachi had never been one to wait around for the perfect opportunity. _He made them_.

Admittedly, waking up in a hospital room with bad lighting casting shadows everywhere and having a heart-shaped face hovering over him too close for comfort had caused him to lash out a bit too harshly. However, given the last thing he remembered before waking up in the hospital had been the Suna officers dragging him out of his cell in cuffs and shackles, he supposes it had been somewhat reasonable. He remembers collapsing to the floor and coughing. A lot. After that…just blurs of semi-lucid quality. His body being lifted onto something flat by several sets of hands. The bright sting of sunlight assaulting his barely open eyes…it had felt warm on his face, an odd sort of relief. Then the blare of sirens that had accompanied what was likely a speedy trip to the hospital.

And he remembers a hand on his right forearm. Not one holding him in place or trying to restrain him, but simply resting there as though to assure him of its presence.

Of course his suspicions tell him it had to have been Sakura. Who else would dare lay a hand on him like that?

He finds her strange, but at least interesting. Even after all these years there is still something about her that is reminiscent and familiar of how he envisions her in his memories. Back then, he had not known her well. Sasuke did not bring home very many friends to play with after school, but among the ones he did, was a pink-haired girl. Though Itachi figured she hadn't been so much as invited, as she had chosen to tag along with his little brother and the other loud-mouthed, blonde kid that showed up occasionally to play at the Uchiha residence.

She had been shy but polite the few times they crossed paths in the kitchen or the basement where Sasuke and the other boy liked to play video games sprawled out on the floor and Sakura sat on the couch, appearing to be content just watching them.

Itachi had never imagined their paths would cross again after he defected, and had probably all but forgotten about her before he even left. But coming back to Konoha had dredged up long-ago memories, some very much unwanted and some seemingly inconsequential. Sakura had been in the latter category, merely an add-on to memories of Sasuke and life in his old family home. But what had struck him back then and what shone now in those memories of days past, was the way she had adored his younger brother, had followed him unerringly and with complete devotion like a puppy after its master. Sasuke had been too young to see it for what it was, or had been completely indifferent to the feelings of silly, little girls, but Itachi recognized it immediately.

Love can be reckless and unkind, but still burn brightly nonetheless. If no one else, Itachi believed she would have information on his little brother. Seeking answers from his family would be out of the question.

Now, after his minor curiosity had gone unfulfilled, he has still found a use for the young doctor.

Gently, he carries the limp body of the nurse to his vacated hospital bed and pulls the sheets up to her neck to cover her scrubs. After much patience and three periodic check-ins throughout the night, his luck finally made an appearance when a young nurse with long, brunette hair came by on her rounds, stopping to mark down a few things on the clipboard resting on the nightstand.

It had been all too easy to feign drowsiness as her pen scratched against paper, asking with tired, squinting eyes if she could loosen the restraint on his left wrist as it was beginning to chafe and keeping him from sleep. All too compliantly, she bent over to unfasten the buckles and metal pins attaching the straps on the guard rail to his arm to adjust to a more comfortable setting.

It had been enough for Itachi to thrust his hand free the rest of the way and plunge the needle of sedative he had pickpocketed earlier into her neck. Acquiring the sedative had been a bit of extra luck earlier this morning as Sakura had unknowingly distracted the older nurse and guard standing near his bed. With the length of his restraints shortened, he had just barely managed to slip his fingers into the opening of the pocket on the nurse's old fashioned apron.

After that, it had been a simple matter of undoing the restraint on his other wrist with his newly freed hand.

Carefully, he turns the unconscious woman's face to the side, giving her a view of the room's wide window if only she could open her eyes to enjoy the clear night sky. Combing his fingers through a few loose strands of hair to fall over her face in case any nurses passing by should look too closely, he decides he's done what he can with his temporary (and unsuspecting) replacement. Rummaging through the dresser the hospital supplies every patient's room with, he finds the ill-fitting, gray prison uniform and matching slip-on deck shoes. Opting to leave behind the gray, smock-like shirt and just make do with the less conspicuous white undershirt, he purposely eats away the distance between him and his means of escape in three relaxed strides. Drawing the vertical slatted blinds off to the side and out of the way, his view of the outside world is left unobstructed.

If he's being completely honest with himself, since leaving behind his home, it's moments like this that he has come to covet the most – ones where he's on the cusp of certain freedom. Casting a glance back over his shoulder at the partially open door letting light from the hallway seep into the otherwise darkened room, he affirms that no one is walking by in the quiet, loneliest hours of the night. If there is a guard waiting just beyond the door, he hasn't stirred. As for the nurse, the features of her pale face are faintly visible in the natural light of the moon. She sleeps peacefully and oblivious to his actions, though he recognized the beginnings of panic draining into her eyes as he pierced her flesh with the needle. He had been lucky it had worked its way quickly enough into her system before she had the good sense to scream.

Still, there is no time to give in to the guilty voice of his conscience. The nurse would be no worse for wear in the morning after getting a long night's sleep. He would have no later than tomorrow's scheduled breakfast before the police would be set into motion and on his tail once again. He had come to Konoha to deliver a message and now that a firmer sense of security had been established, he could return to other business matters.

Now, it's time to move on and calculate his next move. If Sasuke isn't in Konoha, he'd have to get back to the Akatsuki where spies and information infiltration came a bit more easily.

However, he needs to visit a pharmacy…or rather his newly appointed supplier. But first, he needs to put a bit more distance between himself and the Suna hospital. Tugging off the sheets from the identical bed across the room from his, he ties the fabric into knots with practiced ease, almost bored with the simple, familiar task. Attaching the self-made escape line with a clove hitch knot to the foot of the empty bed, Itachi opens the window overlooking the backyard property of the hospital. Not far from the hospital's perimeter, the landscape turns to dust and dirt with scraggly vegetation and a few lonesome cacti. Fortunately, the hospital took appearances into account and had used the donations of some wealthy benefactor to spruce up the lawns surrounding the building. Being on the third floor, he'd still have a bit of a fall once he ran out of length from the sheets, but if he lined up his release, he could safely land on the rather leafy shrubs lining the building.

Stepping up and crouching on the windowsill with his back to the outside world, he tests the quality of his fastening work and, satisfied, begins the arduous trip down the side of the brick building, his breathing just a bit heavier than he'd like.

* * *

**Author's Note:**** Sorry this update is coming out a couple weeks later than I had planned. But this chapter has laid out some of the important groundwork for the future of the story. Itachi knows who killed his cousin and Sakura is beginning to understand that danger not only exists in remote, impoverished nations, but can be as close as home. And what's more, Itachi makes it sound like he purposely strode into Konoha on a mission. Did he mean to get caught too?**

**On a completely different note, it's hard to believe the Naruto manga is drawing to a close. Somehow it's like saying good-bye to an old childhood friend you know you might never see again as life takes you in different directions. But that's just my take (I could be crazy).**

**Thanks for reading!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:**** Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto.**

**Rated M:**** Due to coarse language, violence, and some adult themes.**

* * *

Sakura hadn't sat on her laurels after leaving Itachi to his own devices at the hospital. For all her self-assurances that she'd go home to clear her head of murders and political chess games, she ended up digging deeper into the mystery surrounding Shisui Uchiha's disappearance and eventual recovery. She couldn't leave it alone; the more Itachi insisted it wasn't something worth risking her own safety for, the more her certainty grew that it was.

_Someone is hiding something about that boy._

Her sources were limited to the Internet, and though she downed a glass of red wine, it did nothing to soothe the antsy excitement crawling through her fingers as she tapped at her keyboard and scrolled down the meager listing of relevant webpages. Her search ended with little to show for her efforts; just a collection of images of school photos repeatedly used by the media and an article from the local newspaper stating the day he went missing and what he was last seen wearing.

Trying to find out who Shisui was as a person was even more futile than attempting to find out details about his death. About all she could surmise was that he was an average kid in high school; he played on the school's baseball team, but she couldn't even learn what position, much less anything more significant.

As to how he was in connection with a politician, she can't even begin to hazard a guess. It's not until the next morning while she's standing in front of the bathroom mirror half asleep with a toothbrush stuck in her mouth that the idea bursts into being.

_I'm such an idiot!_

In her pink woolen socks, Sakura slides across the aluminum floor of her kitchen to reach for the cell phone on the counter. Perhaps due to her thirst for knowledge the previous evening, she had overlooked the most obvious course of action: contacting the Konoha police department for a copy of the report made on Shisui. They had willingly provided her with their reports on Itachi and his known activity during his time with the Akatsuki so, surely, they would hand over their information on a case that had gone unresolved for more than a decade.

Scrolling through her call log for the date she last contacted Fugaku Uchiha about her meetings with his son, her eyes, now bright and awake, alight on the digits that will put her in touch with the police. Spitting out a mouthful of minty fresh paste into the kitchen sink, she swipes the pack of her palm across her lips while punching the call button with her other hand.

And with just a simple exchange of words, a request is put in with the records division to obtain a copy of the files. They'll be ready for pick-up tomorrow and Sakura cheerfully returns to her closet of a bathroom to finish washing her face.

However, the sound of her cell phone has her skipping back into the kitchen, her spirits high and boisterous on such a beautiful morning. The seasons are just about to transition from the last dregs of summer to the beginnings of a colorful fall, with all the pleasurable accompaniments of cider, scarves, and walking through trails of crunchy leaves in the park. But as Sakura's eyes scan the screen to see the identity of her caller, a frown begins to sink her happy mood.

_Kankuro?_

She doesn't know why, but a bad feeling pours into her stomach with grim certainty that this isn't a call for chit-chat, but business.

"Hello?"

"Sakura! I need to know where you are right now," Kankuro's voice, though rushed, carries with it the heavy tone of authority that has grown on him during his years with the police force.

"Kankuro, what's this about? I'm at home right now, getting ready for work. I need to be in by 8:00. Is something the matter?"

On the other end, she hears a short exhale of breath, and her senses pick up the note of relief.

Apprehension has the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end, agonizing over what she's about to find out.

_Please don't be about Itachi. Please don't be about Itachi. Please – _

"There was an incident last night at the hospital here in Suna. One of the nurses on the night shift was found this morning in Itachi's bed."

_Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit sh – _

"It appears she was drugged. Itachi managed to escape his restraints…He's on the loose."

Sakura isn't aware of her rigid posture, but her brief lapse of not breathing becomes apparent as she sucks in air between clenched teeth before sinking them into her lower lip.

"And the nurse? Is she alright?"

She doesn't know why this is the first thing she thinks to ask, but it matters for some reason.

"She was still sleeping when another nurse found her this morning. She'll be fine – but Sakura – you're the one I'm concerned for. We don't know what Itachi has in mind right now and you had a lot of contact with him. It's possible he may come after you. Fugaku is already having his wife sent on a vacation of sorts and has been notifying the rest of his family. We just can't be certain if Itachi will attempt to target anyone or if he'll simply be making a run for it."

"So what am I supposed to do then? We don't even know if he'll have any inclination to come after me and I can't just up and leave for a few weeks to hide in some remote getaway while the police track him down. I'm needed at the hospital, Kankuro," Sakura can hear frustration leaking into her voice and hates the way it sounds so whiny. But really, she's in a bit of a pickle. To leave means burdening the already over-worked hospital staff with her patients, but to stay means risking the chance of encountering the Uchiha at large.

Without a barrier between them.

She can feel the beginnings of a cold sweat trickling down her back, her silken night shirt sticking uncomfortably against her skin. Now, all she can think about is how she wishes summer could go on indefinitely. Or, better yet, that she could reverse time back to the beginning of summer when everything was new and growing and Itachi had yet to show up on the marble steps of Konoha's City Hall, bleeding and half dead.

"I understand your dedication to the hospital, and if you'd rather carry on with your normal, daily life, then I won't stop you. But I think it's for the best that you allow an officer to take you to and from work, and we can provide one to keep an eye on your home. Obviously, I'd recommend not going anywhere by yourself, particularly at night, at least until we have a more concrete idea of what Itachi is planning to do," Kankuro explains as calmly and level-headed as he can to reassure Sakura.

"Alright, that would be fine with me. I appreciate it," Sakura replies, almost dazed by this whirlwind change of events.

"I'll get in touch with someone from the Konoha department to send someone for you in about half an hour. Does that work?"

"Y-Yes," Sakura answers, her jaw trembling.

"Hey, it's going to be alright. We'll keep you safe. And like you said, we don't have any evidence that he's planning to go after anyone. Most likely, he's hightailing it back to whatever hell whole Akatsuki operates out of."

"Ok," Sakura can hear her voice, but doesn't remember processing the thought to speak, "Thank you, Kankuro. Bye."

Robotically, she sets down the phone on the counter and then follows suite by sinking to the kitchen floor.

_Why is this happening?_

It's only a quarter past 7:00 in the morning, but the memory of struggling to fight the temptation of burrito-wrapping herself back into her snuggly nest of blankets for another ten minutes of shut-eye seems like days ago. Maybe if she had, she could have delayed this from happening, maybe even prevented it by sleeping through the beginnings of her safe, little life splintering apart.

_It's funny how so much can change in so little time._

But really, it's not funny at all.

* * *

The first day of her assigned protection, though minimal and not particularly interfering in her life, went about as well as could be expected. Perhaps for her own peace of mind, a familiar face had escorted her to and from the hospital and provided her with some light banter and comedic relief despite the stressful circumstances.

Genma hadn't seemed too concerned about Itachi being on the loose, at least not as far as Sakura was concerned. He seemed to be of the mind, like Kankuro, that the escaped criminal would be speeding across borders, maybe even oceans, to get out of reach.

It's all Sakura could hope for.

Nothing amiss had been reported since his disappearing act at the hospital. No burglaries or stolen cars. The police were actually quite surprised at this. Could it be possible that he was attempting to get away entirely on foot?

Answering the front door of her apartment to today's police escort had caught Sakura off guard. Rather than the cocky, half-smiling face of Genma, she had been greeted with the pale, smiling face of an old classmate from college.

His familiarity had struck her immediately, but placing a name to the face had taken her longer than was politely acceptable and after asking for it, she had to fight to keep her welcoming smile in place.

_Sai._

Back then, he had told her he was still undecided for a major. She couldn't help but wonder what had attracted him to law enforcement, especially when she had assumed he'd probably drift toward art after he had shown her some of the sketches in his peculiar book she never saw him without.

She remembers the awkward boy from one of her introductory biology classes during her first year at university. While she is embarrassed to admit it, she had taken a liking to the boy simply based on his looks alone. But what had come off as a cool and mysterious allure in the beginning, was quickly revealed to be an odd social ineptness that tended to rub people the wrong way. That truth had become clear all too soon during the first few weeks of class after Sakura and Sai became assigned lab partners.

He hadn't been adverse to conversation, but wasn't particularly good at engaging in it, despite trying his best to display openness with a wide, close-lipped smile. It all came off as too fake and forced and just plain _weird_. While Sakura had at first been the one to seek him out in the early days of class, she began to actively avoid him in lectures, seeking out single, empty seats surrounded by rows of people, just to avoid sitting next to him.

Still, she had felt bad for the boy who asked odd questions and appeared to have the emotional range of a tree stump. She had tried introducing him to her group of friends to see if anyone else could help make some headway with easing him into normal social interactions...

That's when the nicknaming fiasco happened.

Luckily, he hadn't held any animosity toward her as he drove to Konoha General, though he was just as stiff and off-putting as she remembered him.

Now, as she occupies the passenger seat next to him in the unmarked police car, she feels a bit awkward herself now that she's relying on him for protection.

_ Eesh, I don't think I've talked to him at all since sophomore or maybe junior year…_

An image of Naruto making the awkward turtle hand gesture flits through her head.

As Sai puts on the turn signal to make a left out of the hospital parking lot, Sakura's thoughts are suddenly jolted back to the present as she remembers something of importance.

"Actually, hold on a minute, Sai. Could you take me to the police station? I need to pick something up."

"Oh?" an actual, albeit muted, note of surprise in his tone, "That shouldn't be a problem. What is it you need to get?"

"I made a request yesterday morning for a police report, before I learned about this whole mess with Itachi's escape," Sakura waves her hand airily as if to dismiss it as just one big inconvenience.

"Ah, what is it you're looking into?"

Sakura, pleased at his efforts to keep up the conversation, decides that seeing as how Sai is a police officer, he's as good as anyone to share some of her speculations with.

"Well, as you may already know, I was asked to make weekly meetings with Itachi. Partly, it was to check up on his medical condition, but the Chief of Police also wanted me to do some prying to see if he would offer up any information about the Akatsuki."

Sakura pauses to take a breath and watches as Sai nods his head to show he's listening, though his eyes never leave the road.

_Hmm, perhaps he has gotten a bit more confident over the years when it comes to interacting with others. Good for him._

"Well, while we were having one of these chats, he said something that got me thinking…and he later confirmed my suspicions. You see, he admitted that he knew his cousin, Shisui, the one who went missing, had been murdered and that it wasn't a kidnapping at all. Itachi said he knew the person that was responsible for Shisui's death, but he wouldn't tell me who," Sakura continues, lost in thought at the memory, "He seemed to think it would be dangerous for me know."

It could just be Sakura's imagination, but her old acquaintance seems to inhale a bit sharply at this information, his knuckles pronounced just a bit more starkly as he readjusts his grip on the steering wheel.

"I think there's something to this case with his cousin's death, something that either hasn't been looked into thoroughly enough, or has even been covered up. That's why I've asked for the reports on Shisui's death," Sakura finishes, doing her best to keep Sai's reaction in her peripheral view.

_Maybe he knows something more about it too? But…he was about my age when this all happened and has to be fairly new to the police force, so I doubt he really does…_

Sai doesn't comment on her theories, at least not right away, appearing to be concentrating on driving them to their destination. But as they pull up to a stop light, he finally says, "That's very interesting. To think someone like Itachi would care so much to clear his name of a single murder when his hands are covered with the blood of so many others. I have to wonder why he would care?" Sai gives a slight shrug.

This response confuses Sakura, "I – I don't know. I think he was being genuine when he said he didn't do it. But what I did find odd was that he implied someone else, someone well known, was responsible for Shisui's murder."

She stays mum on the fact that Itachi had implied more than that, that the person responsible has ties to politics. Sakura can't place her finger on it, but something is off about Sai's behavior and it isn't just the usual lack of social grace.

Maybe she shouldn't reveal too much to him. Perhaps what she has to say should be left for the ears of the Chief of Police himself, or perhaps with the Suna police force.

"I think it would be unwise to take anything that man says at face value. Among other things, he is someone who knows how to manipulate others," Sai replies, his attention whisked away from Sakura's troubled expression as the light turns green.

Rolling smoothly through traffic, Sakura is left to contemplate in silence.

_Could Itachi have been playing me for a fool all this time?_

But no. Something – call it gut instinct or a woman's intuition – is telling her there is more to the story that must not be so much of a story as it is a concealed truth.

However, she no longer has the leisure of firing question after question at a restrained Itachi. The fact that she now has her own guard to prevent any kind of interaction with her and the Uchiha is actually almost an annoyance.

_I must be losing it if I actually want to face Itachi alone._

The car pulls up alongside the curb at the front entrance to the police station and Sakura lets herself out, tossing back a quick "Thanks!" to Sai who sits stoically behind the wheel, his dark eyes never leaving her figure as she briskly takes to the steps.

As he watches another officer on his way out hold the door open for her, Sai sightlessly reaches for the cell phone at his belt and presses the button to connect him to the most important man he knows.

"Sir, regarding the matter you asked me to keep an eye on, there seems to be an outsider that may present a problem."

* * *

Tucking her ice-cold toes underneath her and smoothing out the blanket on her lap, Sakura spreads open the folder with the copied reports she had paid for just two hours ago.

With a mug of soup on the coffee table before her (because bowls are for losers and people who actually do the dishes on a regular basis), sleep-deprived eyes and frazzled nerves are ignored as her finger runs across lines of text. Her lips soundlessly shape the words that tell her…

Not much at all.

The investigators had obtained statements from the boy's parents about what their son looked like and what his daily schedule had been.

According to his parents, Shisui had been involved in a local tutoring program between high school and elementary students to help them with reading and math. After his classes had concluded, he walked over to the elementary school on Tuesdays and Thursdays to meet up with his assigned pupil for a two hour help session. After that, he was supposed to walk home, arriving at approximately 5:30.

It was a Thursday evening that Shisui never made it home. After an hour past his expected arrival time and no returning of phone calls, his parents' worst fears began to escalate. While the little boy Shisui mentored had confirmed that Shisui showed up and stayed for the entire session, that he had even walked him out to his mom waiting in the parking lot, no one could be found to say they saw Shisui walking home on his usual route.

Sifting through the thin stack of documents, Sakura's fingers pluck at the page narrating the day Shisui's remains had been pulled from the river. A description was supplied to explain the task force's systematic scouring of all the local areas, and how Shisui's disappearance had overlapped with that of his cousin's. Photographs of the river banks were provided on separate pages, as well as the more analytical pictures of his remains after they had been brought back for testing. The shoe (with its occupying foot) had been one of the most positive identifiers since nature had damaged much of what was left; it had been the right size and same type that Shisui was last seen wearing.

_Poor, kid. _

But other than a stronger emotional connection and deeper sympathy for the young boy, Sakura gleans little from the paid information.

_Damn it._

Feeling highly let down and underwhelmed, Sakura carelessly tosses the folder onto the table in favor of picking up her soup.

_What's my next move?_

With deft fingers massaging her temples, Sakura concentrates. Information has always been her ally, and going to one of the country's top universities had provided her with access to a seemingly endless volume of knowledge to devour all for herself. She had adored her time studying in the library on weekends. But now, one of her greatest loves in life is letting her down. What could be the next source to try tapping into now that the Internet and the police reports have failed her?

_Should I try to seek out his parents to question them?_

But that seems much too invasive to Sakura. Shisui died more than a decade ago and his parents have undoubtedly had more than their fair share of grieving and living in the past. It wouldn't be fair to just drop in on them to pry and ask the same kind of questions the police surely thought to ask.

She curses Itachi for not only giving her just enough details to prevent her from putting this murder case out of her mind, but for then up and leaving before she or the police could squeeze anymore information out of him. Didn't he know her curiosity could easily get the best of her?

Too tired to dwell on it (for now) and aware that she has an early shift tomorrow, Sakura forces herself to go to bed, her puzzling thoughts keeping her awake for about fifteen more minutes before she slowly and unknowingly drifts to sleep.

* * *

Closing the door behind her with a heavy yawn she can't quite conceal, Sakura gives a tired nod to Genma as she follows him back through the apartment complex and through the locked gate to his car waiting out on the street. Genma's enthusiasm for the new day mirrors Sakura's own and for the first few minutes of the drive, they sit in peaceful silence with thoughts lingering on their respective warm beds and fervent wishes for more sleep.

With the sun just barely beginning to bleed its warm colors during the first leg of its daily ascent, Sakura pushes her shoulders back into the leather cushion of her seat, stretching out her legs as best she can. Mentally bemoaning the poor quality of last night's sleep, she makes a mental note to grab coffee and a danish from the cafeteria before she starts her rounds.

_Mmm. Cherry and glaze…_

Sakura muffles another yawn into her hand, and Genma turns the radio on to some early morning news talk station. While respecting that it's his car, Sakura still can't help but scrunch her nose in mild distaste at his radio choices. At least pick something upbeat to wake up to.

"You really need to consider changing up your schedule, Doc," Genma comments as he rolls down the driver's side window, hoping the brisk rush of air will relieve the stinging burn in his eyes from being awake at such an ungodly hour.

"Ah, yeah, sorry about this. I'm not quite high enough on the totem pole yet to throw my weight around over things like that. I'm there when they want me to be," Sakura shrugs her shoulders good-naturedly. Usually, she doesn't mind being an early riser, but with recent circumstances preventing her from getting much needed sleep, the hours are starting to take a toll.

Looking out the window, Sakura watches the few people out and about so early in the morning. A few people stand at the corner waiting for the bus, another woman is out jogging with her Labrador, making Sakura mentally sneer at such motivation to stay in shape. She really needs to start making use of her gym membership…

"H-Hey," Sakura gives a little, nervous laugh, finding the situation a bit awkward, "Officer, I believe you just blew through a stop sign."

Sakura hikes her thumb over her shoulder to indicate the back of the sign that Genma had indeed disregarded. Looking over to him, she notes the worried scrunch of his eyes.

"I saw it. Something's wrong with the brakes," he pumps the brake pedal, but the car doesn't respond to his actions.

"What do you mean? You can't stop?" Sakura hates how quickly panic raises the pitch of her voice.

"Yeah," Genma scowls, checking the rearview mirror for other drivers following him and then glancing to the sides for a spot to move out of the middle lane.

"It's fine, we're not going that fast, so we'll just get into the far lane and coast this thing to a stop," he says, and his confidence is a bit of a relief to Sakura as she watches him manually downshift gears and press the button to turn on the car's hazard lights.

"Shit!" he growls under his breath, prompting Sakura's eyes to widen in alarm as she looks back up to see what has Genma sweating.

A road crew is out doing repair work on the road, with a cluster of maintenance trucks and neon orange cones blocking the right shoulder of the road and forcing traffic to merge into the left and middle lanes. Genma, with eyes on the two cars following behind him, agitatedly merges back over to the middle lane.

Sakura can't help but make the pessimistic observation that the car is starting down a shallow hill.

"Maybe we can turn right or something after we get past the road crew and find an empty parking lot to come to a stop in?"

She knows there's an outlet mall not too far from here whose parking lot should be completely barren at this time of day, not to mention the various grocery stores and businesses.

"Yeah, that's not a bad idea," he agrees, his trademark toothpick swishing from side to side with the stress of the situation.

Sakura watches almost as though she is a passive observer to a horror movie as the car reaches the bottom of the hill where a four-way intersection awaits them. The stoplight directing their lane's flow of traffic is red for now and Sakura never thought she'd find herself hating that color the way she does now.

_This can't be happening._

She feels the adrenaline coursing through her veins as her flight or fight response kicks in; the butterflies beating violently against her rib cage are pleading with her to flee.

Though neither are watching each other, both Sakura and Genma sport matching expressions of "You have to be fucking kidding me!" as they take in the scene of a school bus stopped just a short distance beyond the corner they had planned to turn at, a small group of kids in the process of boarding as a tired mother watches them from her driveway.

Sakura's eyes flash back up to the stoplight as she leans forward with hands pressed against the dashboard, silently praying to the manmade object to change on her behalf.

Hopeful green clashes with defiant red.

Genma spits out his toothpick, "Hold on, Sakura!"

He reaches for the emergency brake, certain that the stopping power won't be great enough, especially after picking up extra speed going downhill.

Sakura presses herself back into her seat, gripping both the console and the grab handle on the roof of the car.

It's as their car screeches out past the white lines of the crosswalk and into the oncoming lane's path that their light turns green, and Sakura's world is set spinning as the car fishtails until they're facing the way they had just come from.

But at last, they've come to a stop and Sakura opens her eyes to the sight of people stepping out of their cars to check on them.

_Miracle of miracles._

Sakura's body slumps forward, the tight restraint of her seatbelt keeping her forehead suspended just out of reach of the hard, unforgiving surface of the dashboard. For just a few moments, she wants nothing more than to sit there and get her heartbeat back to a normal rhythm.

* * *

**Author's Note:**** Yay, action! There hasn't been too much of that so far in this story as it's mainly revolved around interrogations and establishing a kind of confusing power relationship between Sakura (the good, the authority, the weaker) and Itachi (the bad, the opposition, the stronger). And also, I really want a cherry danish after mentioning it in this chapter…**

**Anyway, lovely readers, if you have the time or any strong opinions about this story, please leave a review! Seriously, it helps me improve my writing when I get feedback, and while I won't write something just to please the audience, if it's able to be believably worked into what I already have planned, I'll more than likely do it because I do enjoy making you happy.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:**** Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto.**

**Rated M:**** Due to coarse language, violence, and some adult themes.**

* * *

"Ugh, maybe I should just donate this to the Goodwill?"

_As if they'd even take it…_

Groaning with mild exaggeration, Sakura sets the small canvas against the edge of her coffee table, studious eyes scanning it critically for flaws. Paint layered too thickly in a few spots, sub-par blending, and – ugh! – indistinct edges that make everything look like big, obscure blobs.

_And Bob Ross made it look so easy._

Pouting, Sakura kicks her foot out threateningly, hesitating just before impact and lowering her foot back to the carpet. Even though the final product is something she is sure a ten-year-old could have managed, it's still the evidence of a night well-spent with her friends after a week of constant paranoia.

Thankfully, the incident with Genma's failed brakes hadn't recurred, but that hasn't saved Sakura much peace of mind as she continues to answer the door each morning to her assigned police escort and make her way into work.

And work…

Someone has been sending her warning letters. Warning letters which she could almost detect the faint message of a threat concealed within the bland typeface printed on each thrice-folded sheet of paper.

'_You are getting too close to something far outside your realm of concern. For your own good, you are asked to discontinue your search into the case regarding Shisui Uchiha's disappearance.'_

Sakura, after getting over her initial case of the heebie-jeebies that someone was monitoring her private activities, had wanted to scoff at the anonymous letter's sender for using "disappearance" rather than "murder" or even "death."

Since that first letter she received the day after the car accident, two more had shown up, unobtrusively yet threateningly in her work mailbox, each a day apart.

After the appearance of the second one, Sakura knew it would be foolish to keep such a concern to herself. She had handed over the letters to Genma who had promptly rushed it to the top of the priority list for the police department's lab technicians. After the brake incident, Genma could only see in colors of justice and nothing would stop him from finding the perpetrator.

Yet, for all his determination and confidence, the analysis report yielded little in encouraging news. No fingerprints or DNA were detected, nor were the materials used to produce the notes particularly novel. Nothing could be used to trace them back to the sender. Even the security footage from the hospital cameras showed the everyday mail carrier (who had been thoroughly questioned) making his usual rounds to the employee mailboxes.

Neglecting such worrisome thoughts, Sakura rises tiredly to her feet, most of the buzz from tonight's earlier escapades having dulled her thoughts to sleepy contentment.

_Ha! At least my painting isn't as bad as Ino's!_

Snickering to herself, she tromps into the kitchen to reach for a wineglass from the cupboard and pours herself a generous dose of her favorite pink moscato. A blend of rich citrus and peach hits the back of her throat, leaving behind a savory sweet aftertaste. The wine and canvas event she had attended with Ino, Hinata, and Hanabi had offered bar services…not included in the original price. Sakura had begrudgingly bought a glass of wine after Ino's incessant badgering to loosen up and have a good time.

Carefully nursing her single glass throughout the guided painting session, Sakura watched as Ino delightedly ordered drink after drink, her painting progressively becoming the manifestation of her dwindling sobriety.

_What an idiot._

Sakura smiles fondly at the recent memory. Luckily, the Hyuga sisters were notorious for abstaining from alcohol and were always reliable for being the designated drivers. Sakura can only shake her head at how perfectly their paintings had turned out – even better than the instructor's if she's being honest – making Sakura suspect the girls' well-to-do family had at some point pushed the two of them into taking private painting lessons.

Leaning her lower back against the lip of the kitchen sink, Sakura scowls at her painting through the kitchen doorway. Even from this distance she isn't happy with it.

Slipping her phone free from her pocket, Sakura checks the screen for any missed texts before setting her alarm for tomorrow morning –

_To hell with it, I'm sleeping in tomorrow!_

Promptly deleting her action, she downs the last of her moscato, flicks off the overhead light, and heads to her bedroom with the definitive plan to change into her pajamas and watch some mind-numbing reality television about one celebrity family or another before passing out.

Passing through the laughably short hallway of her apartment with its coat closet and equally closet-sized bathroom, Sakura's ears twitch at the nearly imperceptible _thud _of something in her bedroom. A thud similar to that of someone setting down something on her white, oak dresser. Both antique and an absolute monster to try and move, setting down anything from a hairbrush to a picture frame on its polished surface made a satisfying clunk. Immediately, all drowsiness is dashed from her system as her mind goes on high alert. Inhaling a silent breath, Sakura inches forward, berating herself for never getting around to purchasing that baseball bat she thought about stationing at her front door.

_It's probably nothing…Maybe something fell? Maybe it was the asshole cat?_

But the cynical though rational side of her argues she knows for a fact that she left nothing near the edges to fall off. And she doesn't have a cat.

_Someone is in there, moving about, going through my things…I should call the police._

And for a moment, Sakura hesitates, believing she's learned from the mistakes of all those senseless teenagers in the trashy, B-rated movies Naruto likes to bring over. She wouldn't walk headfirst into a dangerous situation without any back-up or even a weapon. She'd turn around, maybe go to a neighbor's apartment, and call the cops from a safe place. She'd –

The sound of a drawer being closed causes angry fire to shoot up from her belly and engulf her cheeks with glowing red intensity.

_Kill the son of a bitch!_

No way was the prominent Dr. Haruno going to suffer the indignation of some lewd bandit pilfering through her unmentionables. She'd gut the fool and string him up by his own intestines.

With fingers falling away from her back pocket where her sensible phone is left rejected, Sakura silently stalks up to her bedroom door, pausing for a few short seconds with her ear pressed against the wood.

Not a peep greets her waiting ears, all she can hear is the steady (if somewhat elevated) pulse of her own heartbeat. A heady sensation fills her head, the edge of danger to the situation not quite piercing through the odd feeling.

Without any conscious thought to do so, she abruptly twists open the doorknob and leaps into the room, a fierce expression already in place to scare the crap out of the would-be panty raider.

But for all her bravery, an empty room is all she catapults herself into. Through the partially opened blinds, enough moonlight filters through to show her the bare patch of carpet in front of the dresser. Her bed is left in pristine condition with the red and white striped comforter pulled down tautly over the edges and decorative pillows stylishly arranged near the headboard. A rare occurrence for her part, but its undisturbed appearance is counter to her belief that someone has been trespassing in her room.

Walking to the window, she fully opens the blinds, peering out into the small parking lot provided for the tenants, but finds nothing visibly amiss. The latch locking her window is still snuggly in place as she left it.

Turning back to the dresser, Sakura's stiff shoulders collapse with an exhale of breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. Crossing the short distance, she observes the collection of framed pictures whose smiling faces stare back at her, almost sinisterly in the weak light. Quickly, her attention focuses on the jewelry box, but nimble fingers are able to detect that her few meager pieces of fine jewelry can be accounted for. Kneeling down, she pulls open her two large dresser drawers one at a time. Socks, underwear, jeans, old T-shirts, hats, and random knickknacks all seem to be in order.

Mentally scratching her head, Sakura leans forward with her palms pressing into the edge of the dresser. Her downcast eyes rest on the photo of her and Sasuke taken on a field trip to the zoo back when they were only about six or seven years old.

_The teacher had to have known I had a crush on him. That's why we were partnered together so often._

Agitatedly, she taps her thumbs against the edge of the dresser, her mind scrambling to come up with an answer as to what exactly she heard.

At the same instant her head swings up to meet her reflection in the vanity mirror hanging behind her dresser, a thought enters her head with chilling certainty.

_The closet._

And less than a second after this conclusion registers, something, or rather two somethings, latch onto her hips and Sakura is left gaping at her own horrified face, with eyes widened so far some small part of her detachedly observes her irises are each enclosed by a ring of white sclera.

The start of a high-pitched scream is promptly cut off as something hard is clapped over her mouth and Sakura registers the sensation of a cool, smooth palm pressed against her lips.

_Bite it._

But, as if a mind reader, the owner of the hand squeezes his fingers and thumb into either side of her face, the pressure allowing little movement of her jaws. In the mirror, she sees a single, pale forearm snaked across her lower stomach, anchoring her to the front of the burglar. In the shadows at her back and just above her right ear, she feels the calm, warm breath of her attacker and a shiver creeps down her neck at the closeness.

Her cry is muffled as the attacker swings her around, forcing her back onto the bed and, despite her best efforts, he manages to pin her wrists under his legs on either side of her tense form as his weight settles across her hips.

_No, not this. Anything but this._

She always thought she'd have some way to fight back if she ever found herself in this kind of predicament. She'd kick and throw punch after punch. She'd scream like a banshee.

But when truly put in such a situation, she can do nothing. With her knees hanging right at the edge of her mattress, her shins bounce up and down uselessly before she lets them hang down limply over the side. Though she can't make out any clear details of his face in the dim light, Sakura fixes her own murderous gaze approximately where her attacker's eyes should be and waits.

_He'll have to uncover my mouth eventually, even for just a second. And then I'll scream bloody murder. I'll get my hands free. I'll scratch his face to get DNA under my fingernails and – _

"Ah, you've settled down. Good," a familiar voice reaches her ears, breaking through her instructive thoughts. The tone is almost uncaring, as though he's merely a passive observer rather than an active participant in restraining her.

Sakura completely stills, her nostrils flaring out as her brain processes whose voice is coming in loud and clear in the dark shadows of her bedroom. And with quiet dread, if not utter disbelief, she matches a face and name to the man straddling her waist.

_They were wrong._

"Itachi," her lips attempt to form the name despite being mashed against his hand.

_The cops said there was little chance he'd come after me! _

"It seems I'm in need of your assistance, Sakura," his voice is unmistakable in its promise that Sakura isn't going to find whatever he has to say agreeable.

_They were wrong. Wrong. Wrong. WRONG. WRONG. WRONGWRONGWRONGWR – _

"And it seems," Itachi pauses as he leans down toward Sakura's face, close enough that she can feel the tips of his long bangs brush across her cheeks and see the reflective glint in two dark eyes, "That you are in need of mine."

At this, Sakura's hysterical inner chant is broken as her stressed mind works to rearrange his words into some kind of semblance of rationality. But she can't. He needs her help and she needs his?

"You're being watched," he states simply.

Some combination of disgust and incredulity must mar the upper half of her facial features as Itachi gives her a warning look before slowly withdrawing his hand.

Sakura manages to get out one shrill syllable of a scream before Itachi's hand is slapped back in place, a harsh look of reproach drawing down the stern line of his mouth.

"That was very unwise. As I said, you're being watched. At the very least, listened to."

Sakura squirms to free her hands out from under Itachi's weight, but his knees press down on the backs of her hands with even more force, making Sakura wince.

"Now, we're going to try this again Haruno, and I expect you to cooperate."

When he doesn't remove his hand, Sakura realizes he's waiting for some sign of agreement so she nods her head as best she can while lying flat on her back.

"Very well," and with that, his cool hand retracts once more and Sakura hesitates a moment to speak, all of her thoughts battling for dominance.

"What do you mean by I'm being watched? Of course I am! The police are out hunting for you and they've assigned someone to keep tabs on my apartment and escort me to and from work," Sakura can't keep out the bitter edge in her words. Itachi's reappearance has severely disrupted her life in the worst ways imaginable. The invasion of peace and privacy, the lost sense of security…She could go on with her list of grievances, but those are the most important.

_Yet, despite all of that, he couldn't leave well enough alone. He has to come and completely destroy everything I have._

"Yes, but I doubt part of the police department's protection program involves spying on the victim, don't you?"

At Sakura's confused scowl, he continues, "Someone has planted listening devices in your apartment, someone I'm betting you didn't invite into your home. Want to take a guess as to what they find so interesting about you?"

Sakura can almost detect a hint of mocking in his voice, as though he's belittling her for bringing this upon herself. And how dare he! She never wanted any part in this whole mess! She was coerced by an insufferable Chief of Police and the begging of an old friend. She thought her part in all of this would be minimal.

"One bug in the living room and one in the kitchen. I wasn't able to finish checking in here, but I haven't come across anything. Neither have I found any cameras, but I believe they're more keen on what it is you have to say than what it is you're doing. And what exactly are you doing, _Sakura_?"

Nose-to-nose, Sakura grits her teeth threateningly, though she's powerless to fight back, physically or verbally.

"Unlike you, Itachi, I'm not a wanted criminal. I can move about a bit more freely and my business is my own. And I certainly don't have to take advice from the likes of _you_," Sakura spits back defensively.

"A naïve perspective. It's the ordinary, law-abiding citizens that are the most shackled to societal norms and regulations. On the contrary, I can do as I please because I ignore them entirely," Itachi replies easily.

Sakura grunts as she renews her energy to buck Itachi off, but he is immovable.

"You've been poking into matters that don't concern you," Itachi's flat tone is all but accusatory.

At this, Sakura's eyes, dark and narrowed, squint up into his face as the gears of her mind grind rapidly into action.

"It was you!" she crows, "It was you who sent me those stupid threats, wasn't it? Why bother with that? Why didn't you just leave?!"

"I did not send you any threats," Itachi says slowly, "But now I'm interested to know who has."

Sakura's body goes still once more as this news sinks in. Truly, she thought she had figured it out.

_But if not Itachi…Then who?_

"I've received three notes in my mail that comes to the hospital…They all said I was getting too close to finding out something I shouldn't and that I had to stop," Sakura says, almost as though pondering aloud to herself and not trapped underneath the body of a wanted convict.

"You didn't listen. I said to keep your nose out of my cousin's death. The case is cold and you don't need to be the one that re-opens it."

"But why not?" Sakura asks almost petulantly, "Don't you want justice for Shisui?"

A moment of embarrassing (at least for Sakura) silence passes between the two as Sakura re-evaluates who exactly it is she's speaking to.

"It doesn't matter now," Itachi replies stiffly, "However, this changes things. You've made yourself a target. These people aren't just after knowing how much you know. They'll want to silence you," he finishes grimly.

Sakura gapes like a fish, "B-But I-I don't really know anything! The police report on the case hardly gave any details at all and – ''

"You went to the police department?" Itachi asks sharply, the hand resting next to Sakura's head sinking down into the mattress even further.

"I – Yeah, I requested to have a copy made. Why is that so bad?"

A frustrated sigh escapes Itachi as he sits up straight. Sakura wishes he'd release her hands; uncomfortable tingles shoot up her arms as they start to fall asleep.

"I've suspected for some time now that there's a mole working within the department. Possibly more than one. Now that you've been assigned a police escort, you've come to that mole's attention. It's possible that they've even ensured they were one of the officers assigned to you."

Something cold and slimy slides down Sakura's spine at this thought. The idea of someone who was specifically designated to protect her actually having a hidden agenda to harm her…It's scary. It's madness.

"How do you know this? Who do these moles work for?"

"The organization I work for has an extensive intelligence network. But this group here in Konoha, I came across even before joining Akatsuki. They call themselves ROOT and their boss is someone I'm sure you've heard of."

"And who – ?"

But Sakura's question is interrupted as the sound of someone knocking at her front door travels back to the bedroom where Itachi and she both freeze, temporarily coming out of their little, private bubble of conspiracy and murder.

For a moment, Sakura blanks, unsure of what to do in such a situation.

Try to break away and make a run for the door and help?

Get caught with having a wanted criminal in her apartment?

Let the door go unanswered and say good-bye to any hope of rescue from this awful, messy situation?

But the ball isn't in her court, so to speak. Itachi is in control of the situation and it's his decision to make. Making a point to flash a gruesomely curved knife in front of Sakura's eyes, demanding her compliance, he brings a finger to his lips in the universal sign for silence.

Reacting quickly, Itachi yanks Sakura to her feet, a hand slipping back into place over her mouth as he tugs her along to the front door. Expertly, he maneuvers around the furniture in her living room despite the lack of light, and silently pulls Sakura up to his side as he peers out the peephole of the door and then has Sakura do the same.

A police officer in full uniform stands waiting on the other side.

_Sai._

Whispering lightly into her ear and without removing his hand, he asks, "Do you recognize him? Nod once if yes, twice if no."

Not knowing why she bothers to be truthful with him, she nods once.

"Is it usual for the police to come to your door at night to check in on you?"

They never have.

Exaggeratedly, Sakura nods her head twice to indicate no.

She feels his grip on her arms tighten as he readjusts his hold ever so slightly. Her thoughts flash to the knife concealed in Itachi's back pocket.

_Is he thinking of killing Sai?_

"I think we may have our mole right at your front door, Doctor," Itachi's breath tickles the shell of her ear and for a moment Sakura wonders if she heard him correctly.

_Sai?_

And though it seems ludicrous to think that Itachi might be telling the truth, a part of her wonders…And thinks that maybe it's not so outlandish as it sounds.

Would Sai betray her like that? Did he have it in him to do that?

Some small, fearful voice within her whispers, "_Yes_."

Now, all she wants to do is back away from the door, but that causes her to bump lightly into Itachi's chest. Truly, she can't determine which is the bigger threat.

"Change of plans. Is there a back door to this place?"

Sakura nods twice.

"A fire escape?"

She nods once, lifting her foot to point back toward her bedroom. Out the window is a rickety looking fire escape that Sakura had prayed long ago she'd never find herself using.

"Go."

Itachi pushes her in that direction as another series of short raps at the door momentarily distracts her.

_If Sai is here to 'silence' me, then is going with Itachi the better option? I mean, I didn't actually even see any of the bugs, I'm just taking his word for it. And why? Why should I believe anything he says?_

Frowning to herself, Sakura unconsciously allows herself to be guided to the window and unseeingly watches as Itachi unfastens the lock and slides open the glass window and then the screen, letting in the brisk night air.

_Because I think there really is something important being hidden in Shisui's murder. I don't think Itachi is lying about that. But if I leave with him…What's going to become of me?_

But Itachi leaves her with little time to think and sort through the pros and cons of following a wanted criminal. Right now, there is only time for action. Prompting her to raise a leg over the windowsill, Itachi gives her freedom to speak right as they hear a loud bang coming back from the way they came.

Sai has broken the lock.

And his odd check-up coupled with the forced entry is enough to propel Sakura out onto the fire escape, glad she had yet to find the time to take off her boots since getting back home. A metallic cling vibrates through the rusty, old structure under Sakura's less than graceful landing and Itachi is soon next to her in the cramped space, ushering her down the steps.

As her feet touch down on the asphalt of the parking lot, Itachi tugs on her arm, leading her to the back of the fenced in property where a chain link fence overgrown with vegetation divides the surrounding property.

"You expect me to jump this?" Sakura glances up at Itachi's blank expression.

True, the top of the fence is about at eye level with Sakura, and thus not all that impressive in stature, but regardless, it's still a bit much for anyone to expect her to hurdle over it.

She could probably awkwardly clamber over it…and snag her clothes in the process.

Debating on the most strategic way to surmount her obstacle and hearing an invisible clock ticking away as Sai is likely finishing up with searching her apartment, Sakura is caught off guard as she's hoisted up without permission.

Kicking out on instinct and subsequently being counterproductive to Itachi's intentions, he squeezes her biceps harder as he lifts her up to step along the narrow width of the fence before she quickly makes friends with gravity and drops down to the ground.

In the time it takes Sakura to dust herself off from clinging leaf debris and grass and rise to her feet, Itachi manages to jump as lithely as a cat onto the fence and then land lightly on his feet next to her. This leaves Sakura to wonder just how often Itachi has found himself in similar situations that such physical feats have become second nature.

Darting ahead into the landscaped backyard of a neighboring house, Itachi grabs hold of Sakura once more, his hand finding hers. As she follows alongside her longtime crush's older brother, hand-in-hand, Sakura silently asks whatever higher power that exists in the world why these events have befallen her.

Though she doesn't receive an answer, she takes some small comfort in the sight of a nearly full moon illuminating the sky and the unknown path Itachi takes into the city.

* * *

**Author's Note:**** Merry Christmas (or whatever it is you may celebrate)! This is just my little gift to you for the holidays. Hope you all enjoy, and hopefully there aren't too many errors as I typed this up rather quickly!**

**Thanks for reading!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:**** Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto.**

**Rated M:**** Due to coarse language, violence, and some adult themes.**

* * *

_I can't keep this up for much longer._

Wearily, Sakura swallows against the worrisome tingling sensation at the back of her tongue, a warning precursor to potential vomiting. With no restrooms at her disposal and the prospect of humiliating herself in front of her current company too much for her to deal with, she bites back against the wave of nausea nearing its crescendo in her stomach. Badgering herself for downing that indulgent glass of moscato upon returning home, she unconsciously squeezes back on the hand clasped in hers.

Even distracted with cutting a stealthy trail through the neighborhood Sakura's home resides in, Itachi manages to spare her an inquisitive glance, keeping the light flow of traffic in his periphery as he looks down at the pink-haired woman. Green eyes tinted with an edge of queasiness and paired with a troubled frown alert him to the inconvenient state of his traveling companion and he pulls her along for a few more strides until they are both sheltered within the shadowed privacy of one resident's detached carport.

"Is something wrong?"

Shrieking in her head with self-righteous indignation that of course there is – there are at least a hundred somethings wrong with her present predicament – she stifles the instantaneous reaction to bite the obtuse Uchiha's head off and breathes in deeply through her nose.

"I just – I feel a bit sick. I was…drinking earlier and all this running is…" she trails off, grimacing as she pours all of her concentration into not vomiting on the wanted criminal she's been forced to associate with. Itachi reflects his own discomfort at this potential mess with a slight downward curvature of his lips.

"I see," he pauses, and Sakura stares back into bottomless onyx eyes that give nothing away of the inner contemplation that must surely be taking place behind them. Not that she cares much about that at the moment. No, she is much too preoccupied with creating some type of placating rhythm within her stomach as she inhales cool, delicious air.

"If you can make it another two blocks, I can promise you the going will be much easier."

Sakura doesn't know why these words encourage her to keep going. If she had any grip on logic at the moment, they surely wouldn't. But somehow, Itachi's words are like a life saver she latches onto, and they propel her head into consenting with a careful nod as she follows in his footsteps at a slightly reduced pace.

Barely avoiding a horrible mishap about halfway through their trip in which Sakura catches an unfortunate whiff of the foulest garbage that only the most confident human could find acceptable to place out on the street for the next day's trash collection, the duo glides through the back entrance of a small, private parking lot. If she isn't mistaken, Sakura believes Itachi has led her to the local orthodontist office and through the overwhelming urge to heave ho, curiosity dances vaguely in the back of her thoughts.

_What are we doing here?_

With her free hand resting delicately over her upper abdomen as if to dull the pain, Sakura follows unquestioningly as Itachi stalks up to the driver's side of the single car parked in back of the building where delivery and service trucks would normally go to drop off supplies. Astonished (though not sure why anything surprises her at this point), she watches with wide eyes as he fishes something small from his back pocket and presses a button on the keyless-entry remote control attached to a rather cluttered key ring. Raising an eyebrow but choosing not to voice her wonderings over whether the vehicle was lifted secretly off the hands of its rightful owner – _It most certainly had to have been_ – Sakura moves to the passenger side and slides gratefully into the leather seat. The scent of suntan oil and cigarettes is strong, but strangely soothing to Sakura's upset stomach and she allows herself to settle down as comfortably as she can, leaning tiredly back into the padded headrest.

From the corner of her eye, she watches as Itachi shifts the car into drive, flicking on the headlights as he pulls quietly out onto the road, merging inconspicuously with the rest of society. Something about that prickles Sakura's senses uncomfortably, the thought that anyone, no matter how cruel in nature could blend in with the masses. How many had she unknowingly passed by in her lifetime, completely unaware of their actions or thoughts? How scary to be in such close proximity to such evil.

Like right now.

Something else shifts warningly in the pit of Sakura's stomach and it's not the alcohol gone foul.

The street lamps aren't nearly bright enough in Sakura's opinion and she bitterly wonders why there aren't more cars out. Any other time there would be! Now that the confusion and excitement has slightly abated, she is left to consider her actions in silence, picking at them like one would a scab.

Just what exactly had she gotten herself into?

Perhaps she had successfully avoided the most immediate danger by escaping Sai, but could she even be certain that he had been the dirty cop Itachi had pegged him as? What else could provoke someone assigned with her protection to barge violently into her apartment?

The obvious conclusion slapping Sakura repeatedly upside the face as the car rolls to a slow stop at a red light is that the answer is sitting right next to her.

Surely it would be possible that Sai had somehow tracked Itachi to her apartment. After all, the whole point of her police escort was to ensure she had some line of defense between her and the escaped madman should Itachi wish to attack her.

A cold sweat breaks out across her forehead and Sakura struggles to control her shaky breathing.

_What have I done? _

"Sakura."

Her face snaps up to meet his, but she is greeted with only the stark profile of his face as Itachi stares resolutely ahead. The hum of the engine is all that hangs between them as the red glow cast by the overhanging traffic light barely penetrates into the shadows of the cab. Blue light illuminates the dashboard but provides little aid to Sakura's eyes as she scans Itachi's face for signs of rage, hostility, anything really, that would tell her she needs to unfasten her seatbelt this very instant and eject herself from the car. Road rash would be a mercy compared to some of the things she knows this man is capable of.

"You're scared."

_Damn right._

But she dares not confirm this. Dares not provoke him.

"There's no need to be. I have no ill intentions toward you. If you are uncertain as to whether or not you made the right choice by coming with me, I am afraid I cannot answer that for you. But even if that officer is not the mole I suspect he is, you can be certain you would have encountered the actual one soon enough."

"How do you know that?"

She knows it's useless to point out she has little reason to take his word on the matter.

"Because I know the man who wants your silence."

Simple. Cryptic. Absolutely infuriating. Everything she has come to expect of Itachi's answers.

"I'm getting sick of all this secretive crap," Sakura snarls under her breath, returning her own gaze back to the road ahead as Itachi steers onward.

"As am I."

Sakura doesn't expect this admission and so her eyes are drawn once more back upon the smooth, pale cheek of her driver.

"So where are we going?" she asks, trying to add a modicum of casualness to her tone in this otherwise bizarre turn of events.

Outside, neon signs flash obnoxiously from the less than reputable district of town, eager to snag passerby. Normally, Sakura only passes through this area in the glaring hours of daylight during which most of the businesses are closed and locked up, shying away from judgmental eyes.

While it's exactly the type of area she would expect to find someone with Itachi's rap sheet, Itachi himself seems a bit out of place among the slums.

"I need to meet with an associate of my organization…I've been a bit out of the loop with their whereabouts thanks to my detour here."

_He makes jail time sound so silly and bothersome._

Sakura inwardly rolls her eyes, but resumes her hawk-like watch of the streets as Itachi takes a gentle turn down a narrow side alley she'd rather not go down. At the end of the brick building to their left, a single, exposed lightbulb hangs above a short stoop, shedding about a ten foot radius of hazy illumination into the litter strewn alley. A rather well-fed rat scuttles out from a mildewy heap of newspapers, dashing through the beams of the car's headlights. Sakura suppresses the shudder threatening to scurry like tiny rat claws down her back.

Just as the front of the car noses into the outer ring of light cast by the flickering bulb, Itachi shuts off the ignition and turns to Sakura, his face almost entirely masked in darkness save for the reflection in his eyes.

"I'd let you wait out here, but I think it's best if you go in with me. Don't talk to anyone and don't stray from my side."

With those two instructions, he promptly shoves open the car door and Sakura follows suit, albeit with a bit of an attitude after being so brusquely ordered around.

_Still, it's probably best not to stay out here alone._

A collapsing structure of cardboard not too far back down the alley is jostled and Sakura nearly jumps out of her skin as she catches sight of an arm and then the rest of a torso as a man rolls out of the confines of his shelter. Rapidly turning around to her companion (kidnapper?), Sakura hurries to catch up, stopping to wait at the bottom of three cracked, concrete steps as Itachi taps on the door.

Sakura is about to speak up that there is no way anyone heard such a weak knock, but clamps down on her tongue as a seam of light appears along the edge of the door and an instant later, it swings inward, allowing Itachi entrance.

Without sparing a backward glance, Itachi motions with his hand for Sakura to quit dawdling and then disappears past the threshold. Squeaking in surprise, Sakura climbs the steps as the door begins to shut behind the Uchiha, barely managing to squeeze through the opening. With the door shut at her back, Sakura's eyes catch sight of the wire running along the door frame and up along the ceiling. A camera in the upper corner of the doorway is angled down at her, a red light indicating her face is being recorded.

She doesn't like the thought of some underground low life watching her from afar in a dimly lit room. But she isn't left with much time to dwell on such uneasy thoughts as Itachi is quite some ways ahead of her. Jogging to catch up, she takes in the gray, short fiber carpet and the flaky chips of peeling plaster along the cracked and yellow stained walls. At the end of the empty hallway, Itachi turns to wait for her before entering into a stairwell. One set of stairs leads up and the other set down into a grimy, pitch blackness. Sakura swears she can even feel a cool draft creeping up from the lower level, trying to draw her down into an eerie gloom from which she'll never return.

With obvious relief, her boots clunk after Itachi as he takes the stairs leading up into welcoming light and a dim chatter which Sakura's ears can't quite discern. At the top of the staircase is a heavy metal door, also coated in chipped and flaking paint.

_What kind of establishment is this?_

A hum of voices and clinking sounds is dulled behind the thick door, but even so, Sakura can now pick out the distinct sound of music playing. And _country_ music at that.

_What the hell?_

Itachi holds the door open for her and Sakura crashes into a thick wall of smoky air that clogs her lungs and stings her eyes. If it bothers him, Itachi indicates no sign of irritation. Discarded peanut shells crunch under foot and Sakura scrunches her nose in distaste at the flagrant disregard for customer safety. Used bottles filled with the discarded juice of chewing tobacco clutter the rounded table tops where men prop their dust-covered shoes and recline onto the back legs of their chairs. A few men raise their eyes at Sakura's odd entrance through the back door meant only for employee use, eyeing the dark-haired man shadowing her and then passing by her on his way to the bar.

Sakura didn't even know this kind of crowd existed in Konoha, at least not so close to the heart of the urbanized sector of the city. Nervously fiddling with the sleeves of her blouse, Sakura hesitates, stranded out in the open with several pairs of eyes on her frozen figure, none of which she can determine as friendly. Fortunately, she gathers her wits about her, remembering Itachi's instructions, and slides up alongside the Uchiha whose elbows are propped up on the bar, hands clasped in front of his mouth as he waits patiently for the bartender to finish ringing up a customer. Sakura traces her finger along the grain of the bar top, marveling in the smooth, wornness from years and years of patrons sitting in her very seat. Her eyes scan the assorted rows of liquor bottles behind the bar before catching her own reflection in the mirror running along the entire length of the wall, giving the illusion of a much larger space behind her. The speakers placed in regular intervals among the rafters of the ceiling play a slow song she isn't familiar with at a volume much more tolerable than the pounding beat she had often come to loathe at the house parties from her college days.

At last, the bartender moves away from the register and turns his attention to the couple seated in the middle of the bar. Even at a distance, Sakura catches the surprise and recognition that flashes briefly through his expression before a knowing look replaces it and the young man saunters over to Itachi, a small smirk in place.

"I've been wondering if you'd show up here," he greets the Uchiha easily, draping a towel over his shoulder that he had previously been using to wipe glassware with. He cocks his head slightly to the side, eying Sakura curiously before returning his full attention to the imposing presence before him. Something irritating tickles at Sakura's memories as she watches the man use an index finger to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

Sakura watches with baited breath as Itachi lowers his hands to the bar top, clasping them politely as he fixes the bartender with a stern look.

"I need information on where the best view would be to watch the sunrise."

Sakura gapes at Itachi's unusual deadpan, thinking perhaps he's had some sort of mental relapse. But if the bartender finds his request odd he doesn't show it. In fact, to Sakura's mild astonishment, he smiles lightly as if having anticipated that very question.

And that's when it hits her: they're speaking in code words.

_This man isn't just some run-of-the-mill, twenty-something bartender. He's an informant._

With guarded apprehension in her eyes, Sakura's attention turns to the man behind the counter as he leans forward between the two seated opposite him. Something cunning gleams in his eyes as he relaxedly settles his weight onto his forearms.

"For someone who doesn't believe in luck, you seem to have a lot of it," the bartender's smile widens, flashing teeth, "As it turns out, I happen to know the sun is making an appearance tonight. It has business in Wonderland. If I were you, I'd look for it ten blocks north of here. You recall the place, right?"

He dips his chin down as though to conceal his smile, and Sakura doesn't know why it annoys her so that the slight head tilt causes his glasses to flash with the light's reflection, concealing his eyes.

Itachi nods once in affirmation but before either man can say another word, Sakura is unable to contain the sudden insight that flashes through her mind only to be projected through her traitorous, unthinking mouth.

"Hey, I know you! You went to my university! I had you as a TA in my comparative anatomy class."

Of course, as soon as the words leave her, she instantly wishes to suck them back inside and bury them deep down where they can go unnoticed. The displeasure radiating from the silent man beside her is tangible enough for her to squirm uncomfortably in her swivel chair. And to make matters worse, the bartender who she's now identified but can't quite place a name to is regarding her with a look that's a bit too intrusive for her liking, as though she's a slide under a microscope he's skillfully trying to bring into focus.

"Hmm, I thought you looked very familiar. Although I taught over a dozen or so classes, I'm afraid I don't remember your name," he informs her, inviting Sakura to supply the answer for him.

But Itachi cuts in before she can do any more damage, rising to his full height and imperiously looking down at the bartender still leaning leisurely against the counter.

"That information is not for disclosure," his cold temperament leaves Sakura's skin dancing with goosebumps.

_I've done it now. He's going to kill me._

"We're leaving," he says more to Sakura than the bartender, as he turns his back, dismissing the other man and leading the way back from whence the unlikely duo came. Sakura nearly hiccups with dread, clumsily rising from her seat. Her legs are heavy with anxiety but she dares not show any sort of defiance by lagging behind.

Just as she approaches the door that Itachi heaved open with enough force to remain open long enough for her passage through, Sakura chances a look back over her shoulder, wishing she hadn't when her eyes connect with the cold stare of her old acquaintance, his smile having been traded for a frown.

* * *

"You didn't listen."

Sitting demurely in the passenger seat, Sakura's back is ramrod straight as she is left holding her breath with her tongue plastered to the roof of her mouth. It had already gotten her into enough trouble for one night.

Itachi had driven fluidly in reverse back down the alley, the tight confines making it impossible to turn around, and could only be headed in the direction of what Sakura assumes to be the place her old TA had alluded to.

"Let's make it perfectly clear: I can only keep you safe if you're willing to listen and follow my instructions. Understand, Doctor?"

He doesn't bother to lift his eyes from the road ahead. The furious spike in energy inside the close quarters of the small car alert him to his companion's discontent.

"What the hell do you take me for? I've just been whisked away from my home by an escaped convict and now I'm on some fucked up misadventure for who knows what reason. And I'm to believe you have any good intentions in you to keep me safe?!" Sakura fires back, her chest heaving with the exertion of her emotion, straining against the seatbelt.

She relishes this feeling, being more akin to a position of might and control in her daily life rather than the pitiful thing she was earlier in her panicked, alcohol-influenced state.

"I doubt there is much I can say to convince you on that matter," he admits calmly, if not tiredly, "Simply know that I don't wish for any harm to come to you."

"And another thing!" she continues, deciding to ignore his comment aside from a minor scoff, "What, pray tell, is the purpose of forcing me to tag along with you?"

"You're a means to an end."

Sakura bristles at his bluntness, his callousness, his business-like conduct of assessing every human's value to assert if they can be of some use to his gain.

"However, this arrangement can be mutually beneficial. You are already well-versed on my medical condition and have the ability to treat me. In exchange for seeing to my health, I can offer you protection. It is among Akatsuki's goals to take out the man threatening the peace of Konoha. Coincidentally, that man is the one threatening your life now."

Sakura is struck dumb for a moment, but only a moment before snapping back fiercely, "Do you hear the bullshit coming from your mouth or do you have a problem with your ears as well?!"

"You curse an awful lot for a young woman," Itachi comments, raising his left hand from the steering wheel to rub at the tension collecting between his eyes.

"I'm sorry if my strong language offends your delicate sensibilities, Itachi-san," Sakura mocks contemptuously, lowering her voice, "But pardon me for being against this entire absurd ordeal!"

"It's not ideal, no," he relents, "But I think it can work out."

It is at this point that Sakura is startled to come to the realization that the car has been parked alongside the curb, a parking meter stationed along the sidewalk that Sakura is certain will go ignored. So intent was she on her anger and complete frustration with the immovable wall that is Itachi Uchiha that she hadn't even noticed they'd arrived at their destination. Hadn't even perceived the passage of time.

_Speaking of here…Where is here?_

This part of town, Sakura observes, is notably cleaner and more upscale than the last shady establishment they had just left. But really, how much better could it possibly be if men like Itachi considered it within their haunting grounds?

As she steps out of the car, she watches confusedly as Itachi leaves the keys in the cup holder on the console, pressing the lock button on the side panel of the door before firmly shutting it closed. Sakura lifts an eyebrow at his actions, but doesn't bother to ask for an explanation, deciding to mull over it later.

Instead, she is forced to once again scurry after the departing Uchiha's back as his long strides carry him across the road and into the modest bustle of night life surging around them on a street mostly distinguished by its coffee houses with mood lighting and live band music flooding out the open doors.

For a brief moment, Sakura considers making a run for it. Itachi is roughly three strides ahead of her and apparently paying little heed to whether or not she's close behind. She could pivot right around and head in the opposite direction. Sure, she just lost her means of transportation and her wallet is inconveniently back in her apartment along with her bus pass and money, but maybe –

"Hey!" Sakura cries indignantly as a firm hand wraps around her wrist, dragging her forward.

_ Ok, so he was paying attention…_

And Sakura decides that maybe that's for the best…for now. If she has someone in Konoha actively seeking to kill her under the misguided impression she's stumbled upon some big cover-up pertaining to Itachi's cousin, then perhaps Itachi is acceptable company.

Though maybe acceptable is too strong a word. Sakura sighs dejectedly.

They bypass the small shops and sports bars, heading for the last place on the street corner whose inner festivities splash gold and pale blue light out onto the sidewalk where a small line of people has formed, waiting for the bouncer to check IDs and strap their wrists with a plastic bracelet to bid them entrance.

"Again, let me do the talking. And try not to look so stiff. Play along," Itachi coaches her as they near the line of late night bar hoppers.

Absentmindedly, she wonders how the Uchiha is going to swing their entrance into this club. She doesn't have her driver's license or any cash on her and she highly doubts Itachi is one to bother keeping such trivial items on his person. The only thing she's aware he has in his possession other than the clothes on his back (clothes he surely must have "borrowed" from some poor, unknowing victim) is the blade tucked inconspicuously in his back pocket.

Surely, that'd set off one of the security wands someone would wave over them before they were actually allowed into this kind of upscale night club.

_The enemy of my enemy…_

As Sakura is about to open her mouth to warn Itachi of her sudden thought, he places the warmth of his palm against her lower back, a little too low for her liking, guiding her past the line of impatient people being herded one-at-a-time through the double doors.

_Is definitely not my friend._

Deciding his handsyness doesn't warrant the kindness of her warning, Sakura holds her tongue, her lips quirking into a knowing smirk. But Itachi seems unconcerned as he walks up to a man on the security staff with his clipboard and headset. Keeping a hold on Sakura that could be perceived as friendly if not intimate, he leans in toward the man to whisper something Sakura can't quite make out. The man looks up into Itachi's face with raised eyebrows before nodding briskly and ushering them forward. Just as Sakura expected, another member of the security team is stationed just inside the entrance that leads to another set of doors. But as they pass through the first set, Sakura watches with something akin to despair as the man brings a hand up to his ear as though to better hear the voice coming in over his earpiece. Whatever was communicated, the man turns a blind eye to Sakura and Itachi as they pass on to the next set of doors, his security wand meant to detect weapons hanging uselessly down at his side.

_So much for patron protection._

Sakura inwardly scoffs, but her thoughts are eclipsed abruptly as an explosive beat of techno music assaults her ears, her eyes fighting to adjust to the sudden curtain of darkness in this new environment when, just as suddenly, she's attacked by cascading beams of multicolor light that rain down upon her and the other club goers.

It almost makes her miss the relaxed atmosphere and slow country music from the last bar.

Hearing Itachi is impossible in this cacophony and she's nearly forced out of his hold by the mass of bodies crushing against them, some gyrating to the music while others try in vain to push on toward other parts of the club, drinks in hand and sloshing their contents all over the floor and dancers.

And though she's not dancing, Sakura receives a generous splash of some fruity smelling cocktail to her right forearm, the one currently in Itachi's hold and serving as their strained connection as they're slowly forced apart in the growing cluster.

_This so isn't where I want to be right now._

She had never been a huge fan of this scene despite Ino's best efforts.

Now holding on just by their fingers, Sakura attempts to find Itachi's face through the tangle of permed hair being forced into her line of sight as one woman dances practically on Sakura's toes. Two more women come to join her, sandwiching her and, subsequently, Sakura between their lithe bodies.

_Maybe this is a good thing…Maybe I should just let go. Run._

When the next man carrying a drink in each hand pushes into Sakura, most likely in an attempt to bring it back to a waiting lady and win her approval, she doesn't fight back to maintain her balance and her position in the crushing mass of sweaty bodies. Instead, she lets her fingers slip free and is pushed further past the bar and into a second room, allowing the bodies to direct her course as though she's a ship set sail to the whims of the sea.

_Take me someplace good._

She casts a look back as she enters the next room and, for an instant, in a flash of pale red strobe light, she thinks she catches sight of Itachi's dark eyes boring back into hers.

The chase is on.

* * *

**Author's Note:**** Woo! Got the set-up started for the night club where apparently some Akatsuki like to conduct their business and perhaps you can guess just exactly what kind of business that is after the mention of "Wonderland." Next time you can expect Deidara's and Sasori's entrance as Sakura gets lost in the crowd (or at least tries to).**

**As for the bartender, many of you can probably already hazard a guess as to who that is, and his interaction with Sakura will become significant later in the story.**

**If you have the time, leave a review!**

**And, as always, thanks for reading!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:**** Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto.**

**Rated M:**** Due to coarse language, violence, and some adult themes.**

* * *

Skin now sticky from sugar-laden mixed drinks and sweat not secreted from her own pores, Sakura attempts to edge her way to the side where the flow of people is a bit more manageable and she can hopefully find a place to rest for a moment and collect her thoughts. The second room she was plunged into by the mindless crowd has its own separate atmosphere and theme. With walls painted in silver and coated with a reflective rainbow shine, everything is aglow with bright, white light. Waitresses in short, bouncy-hemmed dresses and dripping with necklaces and clunky bracelets made of candy jewelry expertly maneuver through the tide of people, balancing platters of bubbly-filled, flute-like glasses. Smog machines are in heavy use in this room and Sakura can't see much of anything below about mid-calf.

Attempting to breathe in as little of the air choked with the cloying scent of too many hormonally raging bodies, Sakura begins to make use of her hands and elbows to force her way to the thinning crowd around what turns out to be a staircase curving up to a second floor.

Deciding quickly to make that her destination, if only to put more distance between herself and the Uchiha, Sakura zeroes in on her target and charges like a bull that can't be deterred. It takes considerable effort as the bodies around her almost act as a vacuum to suck her further away from her intended destination, but she at last manages to make a grab for the handrail and refuses to let go. She strains her wrist to heave her weight up onto the first step, slipping by a couple too lip-locked to bother sparing an irritated glance at being harshly bumped by a tiny, pink blob.

It's as though she's stepped onto a mountain top in the blossom of spring, the air remarkably fresher just a few feet above the heads of the crowd. Eagerly, she ascends the black carpeted stairs, wondering what the upper level has in store for her.

_If there's another staircase, I should descend that one as quickly as possible and get the hell outta Dodge._

Absentmindedly raking her fingers through the bangs swept across her sweaty forehead, Sakura reaches the top landing, noting its cool dimness and more deserted state.

Down below in what she has dubbed the Rainbow Room, the DJ sits like a king enthroned at his booth, remixing some of the most popular pop songs on the radio while a group of young women vie for his attention, jumping like bunnies, most likely seeking to make a song request. From her vantage point, she still can't spot Itachi, but with such difficult lighting, it most likely means he can't see her either. Turning away from the balcony overlooking the party down below, Sakura carries this optimistic thought with her as she strides quickly down the plushly carpeted hall, purple diamonds threaded in intricate geometric patterns leading to different doors along her way. Each one of them bares a golden number, lavishly painted with the stylistic strokes of an artist's hand against the black grain of the wood. Despite Sakura's curiosity, she knows it's unwise to waste time poking her head in any of those rooms.

_I can't afford to get caught now._

But though Sakura's rationality and good sense win out over her troublesome curiosity, fate decides to play a hand in mucking up her already overcomplicated life. And it decides to do so in the form of a barely clothed woman who just manages to reach Sakura's eyebrows while wearing an impressively lethal set of pumps.

Out of nowhere a door to Sakura's left flies open, a brunette with bobbed hair and thick, doll-like bangs popping her head out to look impatiently left and right down the hallway, her eyes snapping to Sakura's startled form caught like a deer in the headlights.

"It's about time! I thought I was going to have to ring management to send someone up here. They're getting impatient," the woman snips, crossing her arms underneath a chest grossly out of proportion with the rest of her slight frame, "And you forgot the ice?!"

Awkwardly, Sakura gawks back at the woman, mouth agape at her choice of crystalline blue sequins and macaw-like feathers fashioned into what could only pass as lingerie. With heat creeping to her cheeks, Sakura scratches the back of her head, averting her eyes as she fumbles for something to say.

"Sorry, um, I – "

"C'mon!" the woman snaps, moving with unexpected fluidity in such cumbersome shoes and snatching Sakura's arm, "Get your ass in here already. Go make nice with them and apologize for being late. I'll be back in just a sec, I need to snag another bottle of champagne."

Despite Sakura's advantage of several inches, the smaller woman has surprising strength and, apparently, poor hearing as she continues to ignore Sakura's confused protests.

"And just what are you wearing? Plain Jane chic?" the woman scrunches her nose in revulsion at Sakura's damp, button-down blouse and camisole.

"No, look, I'm not – !"

But Sakura's complaints go unheard as she's dragged into the room behind door number nine, her voice being shushed under the melody of the saxophone player off in the corner of the rather large, single room. Modern, white couches are placed in an open, three-sided configuration, a long, glass table serving as the focal point or, more pointedly, the vast array of glass bottles and assorted fruits and snacks atop its surface.

Side carts with cigars and mints and glass containers of other items Sakura can't identify are just inside the doorway. But what really causes Sakura's mouth to drop is the floor to ceiling obstruction on her side of the buffet of drinks and delectables: a chrome pole with a coating of gold paint, polished to shine with a mirror-like finish. A stereo rests on a small side table next to one of the unoccupied couches.

_Oh no._

She now knows exactly what she's stumbled upon though she hasn't a clue as to how she got here.

_Seems I've found myself lost in Wonderland._

Now Kabuto's remark from earlier pushes to the forefront of her thoughts and she uncomfortably shifts her weight from one foot to the other upon realizing she would have preferred to remain ignorant to its meaning.

Worse still, two sets of eyes are staring her down like wolves would a dangling hunk of meat before their noses, sniffing and tasting the air to judge its quality.

"Gentlemen," the woman beside her coos, "You're in good hands. Cherry-chan here will take good care of you while I go fetch that champagne you requested. Please, relax and enjoy."

With a sweet smile in complete contrast to the haughty demeanor she had treated Sakura with, the woman glides out of the room, feathers bouncing.

Nervously, Sakura swallows, forcing her head to swivel back around after following the departure of the woman who had led her to her demise. What is she to do now? With two men anticipating _something_ from her, she surely can't rely on some newfound ability to just sink into the floor and out of sight. But before she can open up her mouth to speak, one of the men breaks the silence, the musician having taken his leave upon the main event's arrival.

"Cherry, yeah? I mean, I get it, yeah, but couldn't you have been a tad more original?"

If possible, Sakura's eyes widen even further, incredulous and flustered with the man's criticism. His tone borders almost on indifference, but the sharp blue eye roving over her form is anything but lethargic. He's sizing her up, but measuring her to what standard of criteria, she can't be certain.

_He thinks I'm some sort of – !_

"Deidara," the other man cuts in boredly, his voice the epitome of smooth though even it has little on the masterfully sculpted face it comes from, "What do you expect from someone of her profession? She may be paying her college tuition on our dime, but that doesn't mean she's received a proper education on creativity," he turns his face away from his partner, appraising Sakura with a small smirk, "Isn't that right, honey?"

Sakura feels her jaw go slack for the second time in a matter of three minutes, her jealousy over some man's looks immediately evaporating into a forgotten memory. Her anger is worn prominently in the scowl bunching her eyebrows and in the clench of her hands. Who did these bastards think they were anyway, putting a woman down like that?

Not to mention they were so off the mark when it came to her.

"That's Doctor to you, asshole," she spits, being the first thing she can think to rebuke these ignoramuses with. The redhead's sleepy, mahogany eyes narrow at the insult, his back raising up from his relaxed position among the voluminous cushions of the couch.

But the blond gives little notice to his friend's sparked ire, waving his hand flippantly in the air at her remark as he crosses one leg over the other and stretches leisurely, sinking further into his seat, "We're not really into that role playing crap. What else do you have?"

Sakura is certain she can feel a vein bulging out near her temple, her irritation reaching critical levels.

"I'm not a stripper, you asshats!" Sakura shrieks, her frustration peaking in this moment until she can no longer bottle up her utter disbelief and irritation over how she somehow just walked right into this tangled mess.

Itachi is almost beginning to look like a better option than this asinine situation.

The blond, Deidara, draws his chin in slightly to his chest, taken aback by the small woman's outburst. She may look sweet as a cupcake with sprinkles on top, but she surely has a molten core within her.

"Then just who, exactly," the redhead responds in a dangerously low, controlled tone as he rises to his feet, "Are you?"

Sakura can feel the temperature in the room drop a few degrees, all playful aura from the room vanishing in a breath. Even the other man, a single, blue eye visible from the shroud of cornsilk hair obscuring half his face, appears alert and ready to pounce as he leans forward with his hands resting on his knees.

Sakura's eyes dart back and forth between the two and then dance hurriedly around the room, but to her dismay, she has but one exit. And to turn and make a run for it would leave her back completely open and unprotected. She doesn't miss the subtle way Sasori's hand reaches for something near his waistline. If he has a gun concealed under that fitted sports jacket of his, she won't have taken more than a step before he shoots her. No questions asked.

It can't end here, not like this. She has way too much left to accomplish and she isn't about to be taken out by some thugs who have just mistaken her as tonight's racy entertainment.

"My name is Sakura," she begins, only to be stopped by Deidara's snort of incredulity.

"That really isn't much better than 'Cherry,' yeah."

Sakura's face goes red with barely contained anger. She forces herself to breathe in and exhale loudly through her nose, hoping to find the dredges of her patience.

"Anyway, I think there's been a huge misunderstanding. You see, I don't work here and I was just walking by when I got pulled into the room. All I'm trying to do is leave."

Though his partner eyes her skeptically, poised fingers lingering over his hip, Deidara voices his thoughts without concern, "And how is it that you can't seem to find the exit?"

Sakura sighs tiredly, inwardly praising herself for her acting skills, "It's been a rather dramatic night and I'm just ready to get out of here. I was with someone and we got into a _huge _fight and now I'm trying to avoid him."

She easily lies, knowing it won't matter as she will hopefully never encounter these two again for the rest of her life.

The redhead lowers his hand to his side, though he doesn't take his seat and Sakura still makes note of the worrisome frown pulling at his lips. He's still suspicious, but probably reasoning that there's little to no harm she can possibly cause them.

_Good._

Meanwhile, the blond seems to be enjoying the little spectacle Sakura has made of herself, grinning, he asks, "Ah, did you jilt a boyfriend, yeah?"

"We're together, though I wouldn't call us an item," a calm, nearly bemused voice answers from behind Sakura and she is loath to turn around and confirm her fears. With heart beating erratically, she begrudgingly twists her neck back to the image of Itachi blocking the doorway, his hands resting on either side of the doorframe.

Caged in.

_Well, shit._

Groaning in defeat, she drops her head, staring at the ground as she wonders how long he's been standing there.

"Sasori, Deidara," he nods at the two men, "I owe you my thanks for detaining my little runaway."

"Yeah, yeah," Deidara waves him off, taking a sip from his tumbler before fixing the Uchiha with a pointed glare, "You owe us another stripper."

Meanwhile, Sasori, having determined Sakura to be of zero consequence, resumes his seat, foot propped up upon his opposite knee as he studies Sakura in a new light, inwardly questioning why Itachi would hinder himself by traveling with such a girl.

"I take it you've already put business before pleasure if you're indulging in such…activities," Itachi states more than asks.

"What the hell do you think?" Deidara asks with premature hostility, raising the suspicion in Sakura that the two have some bad history between them, "Besides, it's not like this stick in the mud," he jabs his thumb in the direction of Sasori who shoots him a lethal glare from the corner of his eyes, "Would allow me to do different."

But though Sakura can tell Sasori is about to retort something particularly nasty to put his partner in his place, everyone's attention is broken by the series of gunshots ringing out from somewhere within the club, followed by a second's worth of silence before all sorts of pandemonium ensue, hysterical screaming reaching Sakura's ears from the floor down below.

Immediately, Itachi's two associates leap past her, joining Itachi at the door, Sasori having already drawn his pistol. Not knowing what else to do or where to be, Sakura scurries to the door as well, remaining silent as she watches the other doors along the hallway burst open, their occupants pouring out in various stages of dress and sobriety to blunder their way to the balcony overlooking the Rainbow Room though none choose to descend the staircase.

"How did you find us here?" Sasori asks, and it takes Sakura a moment to realize he's addressing the stoic Uchiha and not her.

Itachi answers without truly answering, "I think you need to consider replacing your Konoha informant."

"Kabuto is a dead man," Sasori growls between gritted teeth, making Sakura miss his more docile, emotionless face. Angry Sasori is scary Sasori.

"I think it's time to call Kisame, yeah," Deidara supplies, hinting for action, already pulling a cellphone from out of his pocket.

"What's the best exit to take from here?" Itachi asks, already envisioning the crush of people bombarding the front doors. There's no way that bottleneck will be an option.

Sasori deliberates for a moment, biting his lip as he considers the possibilities available to them, "The employee lounge. There's a back exit that leads to the parking lot and Kisame will be able to pick us up close from there."

Itachi nods in understanding and Sakura glimpses briefly at the blue glow of Deidara's phone screen as his thumbs punch the keys with extraordinary speed.

"Don't you think a phone call would be more appropriate for such a pressing issue? I _hate _that texting crap," Sasori snaps, glowering at his partner in disbelief.

"Like he'd be able to hear me over all this," Deidara shoots back, referring to the screaming stampede down below. Another volley of gunshots goes off and Sakura trembles at the uncertainty of whether the shooter is closer or farther away than before.

She nearly jumps out of her skin as something lightly touches down on her shoulder and opens her mouth in silent surprise to find Itachi's hand resting there.

"How do we get to the lounge?" Itachi asks Sasori pointedly, trying to keep the always bickering duo on task.

Enough of the redhead's irritation abates for him to reply with an almost detached calmness, "The only way down from this floor is back down that staircase," he points toward the crowd of VIP guests and their lady friends for the night, all eyes stuck to the panicked, confused crowd down below, "Or we take our chances with the elevator down that way," he points to the opposite end of the hall, "Which will take us into a room we can't see from this level."

_Well, that doesn't sound safe._

But at the same time, Deidara voices his own opinion, "Life isn't without its risks," he grins, clearly enjoying the adrenaline coursing through his system, imploring him to keep up the thrill chasing, "And there's no way we're getting out any time soon going that way, yeah," he gestures back toward the staircase.

Sasori nods in agreement and the group follows his lead down the hallway, Sakura sticking close to Itachi's side with Deidara following close on their feet as he reveals his own gun.

The elevator makes its ascent from the floor below and Sakura can only pray that whoever's hands are on the gun isn't tracking its movement. They'll be all boxed in nice and close when the doors open on the floor below, little more than sitting ducks.

As the metal doors slide open, Itachi takes her hand again, stepping in with her as Sasori jabs the button for the ground floor impatiently though Sakura is too unfamiliar with him to tell if it's from nerves or if he too, like his partner, has a taste for the dangerous.

The moment of truth is upon them as both Deidara and Sasori raise their guns as the chirpy _ding!_ of the elevator signals their arrival and the doors begin to part. As soon as they step out into the room with its forest green color scheme and overturned tables with shattered glasses, a terrified shriek brings all of their attention onto a woman, apparently one of the waitresses judging by her outfit, hunkered down behind a cluster of tipped over bar stools, shaking like a leaf.

Sasori and Deidara quickly pass over the area, eyes scanning feverishly for any more hidden occupants of the threatening kind, but the room is otherwise, fortunately, deserted. Sakura nearly loses her footing as the heel of her boot comes down on a partially melted ice cube, but Itachi's attentiveness and quick reflexes has him pulling her back up to his side as they hurry after the redhead leading the way.

As they pass through a swinging door marked for employees only, Sakura finds herself in a room at odds with the rest of the club in its absolute plainness. With drab, off-white walls, tan-tiled floors, and a bank of gray lockers for employees to stow their personal items, she could almost believe they had completely left behind the danger pursuing them. Passing through a second entrance opening into a larger room, she is met with a small kitchenette area with tables and chairs, and one very startled employee, a cordless phone held up to his ear. He freezes, words dying on his lips as the strange assembly of two armed men, another dangerous, dark-haired man, and, the oddest of them all, a small, pink-haired woman, comes barging into the back room.

Sasori barely flicks his eyes in the man's direction, baiting him to make a move as he continues for the back door just a few strides away. Sakura spares the man a helpless look, knowing he can do nothing to separate her from the three unstoppable forces pulling her with them.

As he passes by the dumbstruck younger man, Deidara turns to pat him harshly on the back, a mocking congratulation on his good choice of action. Or, rather, non-action.

And at last, the four breathe in the success and freedom of the night air, the door shutting quietly behind them and cutting off the light from inside the club. As she bathes in the shadows of night and huddles amongst the darkness provided by too many criminals within her personal bubble, Sakura is about at her wit's end, wanting nothing more than to wake up finding this has been nothing more than an awful, bizarre dream.

But just as she thinks she can trick herself into believing she really is just asleep, a dark SUV with hubcaps gleaming to perfection pulls up alongside the building, its headlights dimming though the engine doesn't shut off.

"Impeccable timing, yeah," Deidara observes, striding up to the back door to pull it open, indicating Sakura should get in ahead of him. It's about one of the last things Sakura wants to do, but Itachi nudges her in the back and she complies, knowing she's been caught for good now. Sasori moves along the back of the vehicle to the other side and it is as Itachi opens the front passenger door that it dawns on her that she's been left to be sandwiched between her two most recent and least favorite acquaintances.

_Swell._

As Sasori hoists himself up into the seat beside her, the cab light inside the SUV affords her a quick look at the occupant of the driver's seat and she nearly balks at his immense size and then truly does throw herself back into the seat as he glances back at her from the corner of his eye. A lazy smile splits his lips, revealing a row of devilishly pointed teeth.

"Itachi, how good of you to join us," his gravelly voice greets as the Uchiha slams the door shut behind him, "But Deidara neglected to tell me there'd be a new face tonight."

Sakura nearly chokes on her spit as she catches the reflection of two eyes staring back at her from the rearview mirror.

"This is Cherry-chan. Cherry-chan, meet Kisame," Deidara introduces, clearly delighting in the situation and Sakura's discomfort.

She doesn't resist the urge to hit him for that, digging an elbow in his ribcage for which he promptly yelps, shoving the offending appendage away.

"It's actually Sakura Haruno," she clarifies.

She might be forced to associate with these annoying low-lifes for a currently indeterminable amount of time, but that doesn't mean she has to put up with their bullcrap.

"Ah, I thought it was Doctor?" Sasori asks all but innocently, propping his arm up along the ledge of the window as Kisame pulls away from the building, driving Sakura to someplace she surely doesn't want to go.

She ignores his quip, deciding to settle for pouty silence as she buckles her seatbelt. She doesn't catch whose hand messes with dials for the radio, but a song just a little too fitting for her liking begins to play as she is left to her thoughts.

'_Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, here I am, stuck in the middle with you.'_

Sakura silently sings along in her head, eying from her periphery first the redhead to her left and then the blond on her right.

Truly, this night couldn't get any worse. Propping her elbows on her knees, Sakura leans forward in her seat to rest her face in her hands, exhausted and frazzled beyond belief.

* * *

**Author's Note:**** Now, how's that for a quick update? I was just too excited to put off writing this chapter so I went ahead with it anyway.**

**Just in case it wasn't obvious, the reason Sakura made it up to the VIP section and got herself into that sticky situation with Deidara and Sasori was that she coincidentally happened to resemble one of the girls who worked at the club, nick-named Cherry. And that girl just so happened to be running late to her appointment with some very important guests. **

**Also, the song that is playing on the radio at the end of the chapter is "Stuck in the Middle with You" by Stealers Wheel. I actually find it to be an appropriate song for the entire chapter.**

**Reviews are beautiful!**

**Thanks for reading!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:**** Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto.**

**Rated M:**** Due to coarse language, violence, and some adult themes.**

* * *

Dull pain radiates from her temples, incessant and impossible to ignore, prompting Sakura to stretch her mouth in an enormous, silent yawn that pops her ears. Anything but eager, she counts down from thirty, promising herself to open her eyes when she reaches zero, secretly hoping her mind will fall back into blissful darkness before she reaches it. And by all counts, she very well could as her inner voice trails off somewhere around twenty-three, her brain building up layers of resistance to the encroaching consciousness gnawing at her thoughts. Even with her eyes resolutely clamped shut, she can tell it's nighttime, or at least still dark out as she can't feel the warmth of any light against her face. A gust of cool air blows ceaselessly into her throat and chest, and through her sleep muddled state of mind she struggles to distance herself from it, turning her face to nuzzle directly into the rather solid cushion she'd been resting against.

_It's actually rather warm._

It's just as Sakura is pressing herself further into the cushion on her right side, judging it to be rather acceptable for her napping purposes that she flinches, immediately going rigid with the realization of where she is.

Snapping her eyes open, she twists her neck up from the uncomfortable angle she's managed for herself and her expression contorts into something between a grimace and a snarl as she shoves off the lightly dozing man at her side. A bemused scoff comes from her left and through the wan light of the passing street lights outside, she can make out the glint of wine colored eyes and bright red hair belonging to her other least favorite acquaintance.

Whipping her neck to look straight ahead, Sakura squints through her bleary sleep vision to make out the road, white line after white line being gobbled up underneath the hulking SUV she rides in as though in a game of Pacman. To her right, her former sleeping post mumbles something ill-tempered, attempting to stretch out his legs in the confined space as he squirms in his seat to get comfortable before promptly drifting back to sleep. Sakura swallows thickly, wishing she had a drink of water or, better yet, a stick of gum to rid herself of the sour taste lingering in her mouth from her last drink of wine which was…What? Five hours ago?

She stares hard at the clock radio to bring the hazy blue numbers into focus. Making a rough estimate, she guesses that they've been on the road for around three hours. It's just past five in the morning and Sakura is feeling nowhere near ready to face the new day. Not when she's still wearing last night's clothes, swathed in the stench of liquor, fuzzy teethed, and thoroughly chilled from the AC blasting on high. If life came with a re-do button, she'd be smacking it right now…and probably several times for good measure. She would have insisted her and Ino have one of their girls' nights for old time's sake because you never outgrow the need to slather your face in homemade fruit masks and watch corny romantic comedies while stuffing your mouth with extra-buttered popcorn. She would have spent the night at Ino's apartment and completely avoided last night's encounter with the potential-burglar-who-was-actually-Itachi and she certainly wouldn't be buckled in the back seat of a vehicle full of wanted criminals with a bladder that's close to bursting.

All in all, Sakura is close to tears just thinking about it.

_ I never asked for this. I never asked for this. I never asked for this. I never – _

"Kisame," a voice pipes up with the barest hints of grogginess, "How close are we? I have to take a piss."

Funny how his voice could make even _that_ sound entirely smooth and all too seductive.

Surprisingly chipper and alert, Kisame doesn't delay in answering, barking out, "Should only be another fifteen minutes. Can you make it?"

Sasori grunts in assent, turning his face away to look out the darkened window as the first rays of light begin to creep over the horizon. Dimly aware of the impending sunrise, Sakura notes the dense cloud coverage building a formidable barrier for the sun to penetrate.

_No wonder it's still so dark outside._

It is at this thought that the first raindrops descend upon the windshield, quickly speckling the glass and forcing Kisame to turn on the wipers, their rhythmic swaying nearly lulling Sakura into a trance in her questionable state of consciousness. Lethargically, having somehow almost forgotten his existence, her eyes sweep to the front passenger seat though she can make out little of the occupant's face. With his head turned toward the window, she is greeted with the view of only his dark raven hair pulled back neatly at the nape of his neck and a pale sliver of cheek.

_Does he even sleep?_

She can't tell from this angle though she wouldn't be surprised if he's merely feigning the appearance of slumber.

_Dreaming of slaughtering the innocent? Creep._

Sakura scrunches her eyes in distaste, her lower lip curling out petulantly as she shoots the back of Itachi's head a nasty glare. Where this acerbity is coming from she can't say. Maybe after a few more hours of sleep and a shower she'll be able to look back on this hateful observation and question it. A small voice in the back of her head murmurs something about a car with the keys locked inside, but she mentally shoos it away, welcoming the wave of sleep lapping against her thoughts.

_Almost…_

Sakura's head hangs forward limply, in a manner that is sure to leave an unpleasant crick in her neck, but she is too far out of it to care. Sleep is the drug calling her name in an alluring coo, wrapping its wispy fingers around her and pulling her under.

Down.

Down.

Down…

_Clunk!_

Sakura jerks up, startled, though her reaction is delayed several seconds after the fact. Kisame mutters crossly under his breath as he steers around an even larger pothole, not taking chances. Awake against her will, Sakura notes with some miniscule amount of amusement that Itachi hasn't stirred (much like Deidara), causing her to come to the unfathomable conclusion that the Uchiha actually does need sleep.

_ How human._

Muffling another outrageously large yawn into her hand, Sakura decides sleep is a lost cause, recalling Kisame's earlier words that they only have about another fifteen minutes to go. Where that'll put her, exactly, she can't say, but as long as it has a bathroom she'll be temporarily relieved.

The voices on an early morning talk show ramble unintelligibly at just enough volume to provide comfortable background noise and Sakura watches the pinks, yellows, and oranges of morning bleed across the sky, highlighting the dreary clouds overhead. If her navigational skills aren't too rusty, she assumes they're heading slightly north of west, and based on the driving time, that would put them roughly around…

_Ame._

It's the only major – or rather once major – city she knows of in the area. Further west and much farther north would take them to Iwa, but that would be more than a day's worth of travel.

_And it'd be cold._

Not that she's thrilled about going to Ame. She had only visited once during a poster competition she had participated in during her undergrad years and the city hadn't left her with a good impression after her professor had warned her and the other students from her university to stick together and forgo any partying around the local bars. The scenery had been lacking as Ame was once a rather prosperous urban center before jobs were outsourced to cheaper labor forces, allowing the place to gradually decay to an asphalt-covered, littered wasteland of vacant parking lots, boarded up businesses, and angry graffiti. Those left behind in the overhaul of infrastructure had turned ill-tempered and rude to out-of-towners, a trait that seemed to be inherited quite readily by the younger generations. Sakura felt a special sort of pleasure in trouncing the competition from the local Ame college who had given her the stink eye throughout her entire presentation.

In the years leading up to her competition, she'd watched various reports on the evening news about the declining socioeconomic status of Ame, a problem that had led to increased gang violence and drug trafficking among other nefarious activities common under such circumstances. Perhaps one of the most heartbreaking consequences of Ame's declining state was the overburdened foster-care system as adults slipped out of their role as parents and into an alcohol-induced stupor to escape the bleak reality of having no means to provide for a family with empty stomachs.

Later, Sakura would realize the foul-tempered Ame students she encountered probably had good reason for carrying that chip on their shoulders.

This early in the morning, their vehicle is the only one out on the main road leading into the heart of Ame though the loud rev of a motorcycle catches Sakura's attention just in time for her to see a helmetless rider whizz past on his way from the city, his slicked back silver hair exposed to the rain.

_Dumbass._

She's seen enough emergency room patients that, had they only taken simple safety measures, would be up and walking on their own two feet.

The rain has turned into a constant, irritating drizzle, nearly fine enough to be considered mist. Oddly enough, Kisame seems at ease driving in the rain, one hand on the wheel as he cruises through the town almost boredly. The buildings are battered and dilapidated, and more than a few have been vandalized as glass shimmers tellingly on the ground beneath the gaping window frames. Gang signs and expletives mar the dingy, pollution-coated brick walls in vibrant paints of blue, green, and red. The only plant life to be spoken of is the weeds sprouting up between dislodged slabs of sidewalk.

Most of these buildings appear to be long-abandoned shops and warehouses, but of the few shack-like houses holding up lopsided yet defiant, forgotten in the shadows of their once loftier neighbors, no sign of recent human occupation remains. Rusted cars are trapped underneath half collapsed car ports, gutted and tireless. Mailboxes have been torn from their posts and bird baths are filled with stomach-churning scum.

Already, Sakura feels defeated and depressed.

Still, it would figure that a gang as infamous as the Akatsuki would make themselves at home in such a dump.

_ They probably feel as one with the sewer rats and roaches._

Unknowingly, Sakura frowns to herself, a pair of deceptively disinterested eyes watching her face closely. Deidara grunts in his sleep, falling toward Sakura, his shoulder slouching into hers.

Because she's preoccupied with contemplating the best way to rid herself of Deidara's lightly snoring self from her person, she almost misses the strange construction strung up in one of the few scraggly trees along the roadside. At first, her mind puzzles over whether or not someone was playing a joke and hung up some bed sheets to resemble a ghost or, more grotesquely, a person who had hung himself. But as her head swivels to keep eye contact with the abnormal bundle of fabric, she discerns what are meant to be wings fanning out on either side of the body.

An angel.

At least, an attempt at one.

And that's when her eyes begin noticing all the images spray painted over the old, faded graffiti. In blinding, snow white paint, she counts dozens of angels depicted on the crumbling storefronts they pass. On the cracked sidewalks, on the dented stop signs, on the peeling billboards…Everywhere. Angels.

And second only to the curiosity of the angels is the gradual change in surroundings as buildings begin to tower over the SUV on either side, making the sky look far and distant though it still manages to reach them through the rain.

Either she hadn't been close to this part of town during her last visit, or these gleaming, modestly-sized skyscrapers are new.

_What in the world…?_

It's nothing like the Ame she had grown up hearing about, nothing like what she had seen in the news or even what she had seen with her own eyes. Something has come to Ame and changed it.

The road evens out as though freshly paved and thriving trees and shrubs dot the median. Buildings with windows gleaming in their newness proudly reflect the rising sun and public trash cans are placed at regular intervals so not even a stray wrapper is underfoot. But, the most amazing sight of all is the light morning bustle of shopkeepers opening up and people walking leisurely to their offices or to the bus stop, umbrellas poised high. A bakery on one street corner, though not yet open, is glowing with warm light filtering out onto the sidewalk, and a merry, elderly gentleman wiping down the counters prepares for his daily customers. A team of three men, each in matching gray and blue uniforms, bustle along the street, collecting trash from the receptacles while a street sweeper chugs along at a peaceful, sedate pace.

Nothing is as she remembers it.

_Did they get some kind of government funding?_

Not a vagabond or stray cat lurks down the narrow back alleys. Fresh laundry hangs from clothes lines crossing from one apartment complex to the next though the frequent rain makes her raise an eyebrow at the logic in that. Sakura can't imagine how this place shaped up in so short of time. Granted, the outer edges of the city's limits still retain the same gloom and neglect she's associated with Ame all her life, but the center is pulsing with life and well-being.

Though she can't summon an answer, Sakura's suspicions nudge at her thoughts. She's fairly certain whatever is responsible for the massive clean-up of the city has something to do with the angels.

They hang from lamp posts and in the doorways of business. Small and large, paper and fabric, they adorn the city in a nearly obsessive fashion.

"Ever been to Ame, kid?"

The question startles Sakura, so entrenched was she in her thoughts, but she quickly surfaces to the present situation and her very questionable company (though she detests being addressed as a kid).

"You have, haven't you? I can tell by your surprise," Sasori beats her to it, "You know this place has changed."

He sounds smug in his assessment. Sakura ignores him, forcing herself to make eye contact with the driver via the rearview mirror.

"Yeah, only once though. Like six years ago."

She pushes gently against Deidara's shoulder with her own though she doesn't know why she bothers to be nice about it, especially when it does her no good.

Now that they're nearly upon the pulse point of the city, they're not the only vehicle out on the road. Several line up behind them as they pause at a traffic light and Sakura still can't summon any coherent words to voice her amazement at the turnaround.

"Ah, then it must have been around the time we just arrived here," Kisame nods to himself, his eyes tracking the pedestrians crossing the street in front of him.

Sakura doesn't understand what that has to do with anything, but she does grab onto a juicy bit of information that will be significant if – no, _when_ – she makes it back to Konoha. A certain police chief she's familiar with will love to know that the Akatsuki have made themselves comfortable within the rather isolated city of Ame. Though she wonders if even Konoha's brass is aware of the city's current rebound from destitution.

"Just push him off you," Sasori commands, annoyed from watching Sakura's weak attempts at extricating herself from his partner's dead weight, "He'll sleep through anything."

But before she can reply or even take his advice, Sasori's arm thrusts out across her front, shoving Deidara back against his side of the seat. She doesn't know whether to thank him or chide him for invading her personal bubble so she settles for raising a questioning eyebrow at his actions.

But his push may have been just a bit too rough as Deidara groans with half-conscious irritation, his hair ruffled and his one visible eye cracking open to the barest degree, searching for the culprit of his wakeful state. Sakura averts her eyes, not wishing to be on the receiving end of any Akatsuki member's direct ire.

"What the hell…" his sleep-filled voice trails off, before he rouses himself to full attention, "Aren't we there yet, yeah?"

_ Just like a child._

Sakura rolls her eyes though she freezes after doing so, remembering Sasori's watchful gaze.

"I don't want to hear it, Deidara. While you all were catching up on your beauty sleep, I've been driving non-stop through the night. Besides, if you took two seconds to look outside the window, you'd see that we're here," Kisame's gruff voice bites back though, Sakura amends, it may just be the natural quality of his voice that always sounds so dangerous.

Deidara huffs beside her, but he does spare a glance out the window, looking thoroughly unimpressed with the view and confirmation that they are, indeed, in Ame.

"Shitty rain, yeah," he grumbles under his breath, yawning loudly

Curiously enough, Itachi still hasn't so much as shifted in his seat.

_Maybe he's dead._

Though, with growing horror, she realizes that might be the worst thing that could happen to her now that she's thoroughly in the clutches of his associates. Itachi, supposedly, doesn't intend to harm her; she may even be allowed to freely return home after all this mess gets sorted out. At least with him she has some kind of understanding, a deal even. With these other guys though…Her eyes flick to each of the other armed and dangerous men she's sharing close quarters with. She has nothing. This could put her in a very sticky situation if her one mutually beneficial connection to the Akatsuki was to suddenly kick the bucket.

_Ok, first thing on the priority list is to see to the Uchiha's health and resume treatment._

Ensuring Itachi's health would ensure her own, right?

Sakura inhales deeply, hoping to steady her nerves as she sits at full attention, doing her best to memorize the path to wherever the Akatsuki have established their base. Truthfully, she had been half expecting to end up in some nowhere, backwater part of the country, lost in acres of wild, unclaimed nature that no one knows about or has long since forgotten. Instead, Kisame delivers them to the front door of a rather upscale building. Though similar to the other office-like buildings they'd passed in the gray brick it's formed from, it is by far the tallest structure in the city, dwarfing the others by at least twenty stories. If size alone hadn't been enough to set it apart and awe the odd spectator, the ornamentation would certainly do the trick. The uniform rows of windows are broken up about fifty stories up as a large face seems to be forcing its way out from under the concrete, much like a sheet draped over a face trying to break free and breathe in sweet, sustaining air. As Sakura follows the lead of the Akatsuki on either side of her and unclips her seatbelt, she gawks at the imposing structure as she clambers her way out of the car. This close to the base of the tower, she doesn't have a good angle to appreciate all the details (especially at such a height), but standing in front of the glass entrance, she's positioned beneath an odd protrusion – a tongue!

_Of all things…_

As Kisame steps out, procuring a metal box from underneath his seat, Sakura is still left gaping as she takes in the bizarre sculpture high above her.

"Peculiar art, isn't it?"

Sakura hums her agreement before doing a double take at the man who has silently joined her.

_When did he get here?_

Some childish hope that Itachi would simply be left alone to sleep in the car is completely squashed as she mentally forces herself to relax her shoulders and restrain some of the hostility she feels seeping into her features. Deidara stretches his arms over his head, moaning with relief as he twists his back, a series of crackles trailing down his spine loud enough for all to hear. Sasori visibly grimaces at his partner's antics, tiredly slinging his jacket over his shoulder as he heads for the sliding glass doors, Kisame close on his heels as he points the clicker over his shoulder to lock the car.

"I'm hitting the sack. Sasori, you can handle the initial report, right?" Kisame ends on a loud yawn, stepping onto the rubber mat just outside the entrance, setting off the sensor that parts the glass doors, sending an air-conditioned gust out into the humid morning air.

Sasori huffs tiredly, clearly not pleased with the task passed on to him but nevertheless agrees, "Yeah, I'll order breakfast as well. Be down in the dining room by 9:00 if you plan on having any."

Kisame nods curtly, slapping his palm down on a round tablet-like fixture jutting out on a platform from the wall. Sakura quickly surmises it must be some sort of digital scanner to identify the Akatsuki members, only granting them entrance into the building. A second later, another set of glass doors opens for them to enter the headquarters.

And with that, the redhead saunters through the parted doors, cutting a quick path to the left that takes him out of Sakura's view. Deidara trails after him, nearly asleep on his feet, though he spares Sakura a short, inquisitive glance over his shoulder before hastening his strides to catch up to his temperamental partner. Kisame doesn't bother to speak but throws up a hand in parting to the two left standing in the entrance, climbing the grand, central staircase at a steady pace to meet his comfortably large bed and a calming cup of sake.

Left alone in the nearly deserted reception-like area of the Akatsuki tower, Sakura inwardly bemoans the fact that she hasn't a clue as to what comes next. But, surprisingly, the insufferable man beside her saves her from forming any sort of question as he chooses to speak first.

"I suppose I can find a room for you."

Sakura gives him an odd look, though she supposes the effect is probably ruined by the dark circles that surely must be present under her eyes and the stiff turn of her neck from sleeping so awkwardly during the ride here. He makes the offer so hesitantly that Sakura can't decipher if it's reluctance over lifting a finger to accommodate her in such a manner, or if he's truly uncertain as to how to go about doing it.

_Please, don't strain yourself on my account, Uchiha._

She inwardly rolls her eyes at the ridiculous thought.

With some kind of internal dilemma being solved, Itachi nods as if to himself before abruptly turning, his course set now that a decision has been made. Sakura sighs silently to herself, resigned to her fate as she trails after his receding back with all the enthusiasm of someone walking to the gallows. Itachi leads her to the corridor off to the right on the ground floor, in the opposite direction Sasori and Deidara headed. To her surprise, most of the hallway is lined with spacious, normal looking offices with glass fronts, the blind slats open to allow her a view of the inner contents. Inside she glimpses flashes of impressively expensive desks and cushioned chairs, potted plants pushed away into the corners for decoration, bookcases filled to capacity, stiff lounge couches, and the latest tech all nicely organized and ready for the day's business dealings. A few doors are shut however, with no windows to offer a glance into the type of dealings that goes on behind their heavy, oaken faces. But Itachi glides by all of this without pause, his sights set on the small, modest elevator at the end of the passage.

Like Kisame had previously, he touches his hand print against a square face inlaid in the wall to the side of the elevator, the digital screen humming to life as it scans him in search of a match filed away within its database. The doors open without a sound and for the hundredth time in less than twenty-four hours, Sakura finds herself in too small of a confined space with the notorious Uchiha terrorist. Wearily, she stands beside him as the elevator gently rises skyward, her eyes firmly on the control panel whose buttons denote each floor, a light flickering through each one as they progress upward.

Funny how it contrasts with the sinking feeling in her stomach.

She ponders over whether she should bring up continuing his treatment now, but the opportunity is lost as their short ride comes to an end and the elevator doors slide open to deposit them on what she checks to be the tenth floor.

_What in the world could they be using the rest of this place for? _

They hadn't even gone up a fifth of this tower's height. Itachi walks briskly into the open hallway which Sakura has a clear view to the very end of where a small square of light offers the gray bricked wall of a neighboring tower for scenery. Her foot steps are muffled by the plush maroon carpet. This floor looks every bit like a hotel from the numbered plates nailed outside each door, to the card access entry, and the tastefully neutral wallpaper of charcoal stripes that, to the unfocused eye, seem to mimic a gloomy, overcast downpour. Itachi seemingly chooses a door at random, selecting one not too far from the elevator, and turns down the handle to swing the door inward.

"This should suffice temporarily," he states succinctly, ever the blunt and straight-to-the-point conversationalist.

Sakura bites her bottom lip, stepping past him uncertainly into the room with its unexpectedly average commodities.

_Yep, definitely like a hotel room._

Though admittedly a rather nice one, the kind that she could now almost afford to splurge on with her grown-up salary. Of course, in her current state the most important fixture would be the bathroom which she catches a glimpse of off to the side with its granite vanity and wall length mirror.

"Sooo," Sakura stalls, "Um, what exactly am I supposed to do?"

"Rest. Wash up if you like. We'll have to deal with any supplies you may need later today. I have other matters I need to attend to, but I'll return to show you the way to the dining hall for breakfast. For the time being, please remain in the room. Someone will be sent to code the lock on your door and provide you with card access."

Sakura nods along, only half listening as her sore, booted feet carry her to the bedroom where not one, but two queen-sized beds are made up and waiting for her approval. She plops down on the edge of the nearest one, swiftly moving to free her feet and let them breathe, not caring about the way Itachi studies her every action. She's already decided on passing out as soon as he leaves.

_Hurry up, damn it! I have to pee!_

She yawns for effect though truly it isn't so forced, and Itachi takes a step back, preparing to leave.

"Remember, nine o' clock. Don't be alarmed if someone knocks on the door."

Sakura grunts in assent, hazy eyes half closed as she runs a hand through her hair, her fingers catching on a knot near the ends.

_Ugh. Do I have the energy for a shower?_

The door closes with a soft click behind Itachi and Sakura, with a surprising spring to her step, launches herself into the bathroom, purposely choosing to ignore her reflection as she passes by it, not wanting to know exactly how ragged she looks. With a content, emptied bladder, she contemplates for a moment on whether a shower is in order and begrudgingly sniffs at herself. Stale alcohol is inhaled up her nostrils and she reluctantly peels off her clothes to step into the shower stall, pleased to find an assortment of travel size soaps and shampoos nestled in an alcove in the wall. She spends just enough time cleansing her skin of the spilled spirits to create a layer of steam on the mirror, climbing out of the stall to happily find a terry cloth, black robe hanging from the hook on the back of the bathroom door. Raking her fingers through her hair, she decides she's put in an acceptable amount of effort to warrant the reward of sleep so she tumbles back into bed, scooting up to rest her damp head on the pillows, not even bothering to turn down the comforter.

As she feels the pull of unconsciousness, she half-heartedly wonders if Itachi's business he has to intend to is anything like what she's doing now. Then again, she knows she's heard from somewhere before that there's no rest for the wicked.

* * *

**Author's Note:**** Well, I ended up updating this rather than getting started on the idea I have planned as a sequel to **_**The First Snow**_**. In actuality, I haven't put any of my ideas down on paper yet for that one, so I guess I'll keep chugging away at this story until I do! Not a whole lot of action in this chapter, but I thought it would be kind of nice to flesh out some of the influence Akatsuki has had on Ame to create a nice little parallel between this story and canon. With that being said, at the moment, I don't have the rest of the Akatsuki playing a huge role in this story (in the sense that there probably won't be a whole lot of interaction between them and Sakura) so I wouldn't expect any big scenes with the leader or anyone else. Sasori, Deidara, and possibly Kisame will make appearances here and there, but I'm trying to focus mostly on just Itachi and Sakura, as well as the corruption in Konoha and wherever the heck Sasuke has run off to. Though I am curious to know if anyone caught Hidan's brief appearance in the chapter. **

**You reviewers are lovely!**

**Thanks for reading.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:**** Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto.**

**Rated M:**** Due to coarse language, violence, and some adult themes.**

* * *

At some point during her comings and goings into unconsciousness, a knock sounds at the door that she petulantly chooses to ignore in favor of turning her cheek further into the goose down pillow cradling her face. Having successfully returned to the gray noise before sleep, some small part of her brain still tuned into her physical surroundings notes that the knocking has started up again, and just as she makes a grab for the spare pillow to cuddle against her chest, the soft click of a door opening has Sakura fully awake and practically feral at the intrusion.

_WHO THE HELL IS BARGING INTO MY ROOM – Oh. Shit._

She's not in her room. This isn't her mismatched T-shirt and flannel pajama pants combo nor are these her lackluster, cotton-sheeted pillows…She may just have to make these mysteriously disappear along with herself…

Clutching the pillow with stiff fingers, a half snarl marring her tired expression, she twists around to face the unannounced presence approaching her sleeping quarters as wave upon wave of realization crashes down on her head.

She's in the Akatsuki's hands now.

"Uh…Hi!"

Sakura's expression falls from her face along with her mouth and the pillow that unceremoniously drops to her lap as she struggles to sit up.

_Who the hell is this guy?_

Perplexed, Sakura can manage little more than a bug-eyed glare as a man dressed in a fitted, turtleneck sweater and baggy dress pants nervously edges up to the corner end of the mattress. But it's not the all black attire or even the fact that he just let himself in that has Sakura's tongue struggling to loosen from its knot – no – the honor of that feat goes entirely to the bizarre, bright orange mask this lunatic has deemed appropriate to don while breaking and entering into strangers' hotel rooms.

At Sakura's lack of response (she's still a bit preoccupied at visually tracing the grooves patterning the swirly mask that leads to one, _just one_, eye hole), the man shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

"Tobi brought a card for secure access?" he states unsurely, cocking his head to the side and it is at this shift in position that Sakura breaks away from her unintentional staring contest and registers the gleaming plastic rectangle being proffered to her.

Hesitantly and with great slowness, the long sleeve of her robe bunches and falls back to her elbow as she reaches out to accept the stylish, sleekly designed card. The minimalist scarlet outline of a cloud is all the color present on the otherwise onyx background. Meekly, she flips it over, not knowing what she expects to find, but all that the card reveals is a plain backside with the coded bar across the top that will grant her entrance into her personal dwellings.

"Tobi, was it?" she asks, glancing back up at the man who has seemingly anchored himself at the end of the bed in an obliviously out of place kind of way.

"Tobi is Tobi!" he chirps, jabbing his chest with a thumb to ensure there is no confusion over the matter.

"Right," Sakura drawls, looking back down at the plastic in her hand, "Do you have the time?"

"Time for what?"

Again with the head tilt.

Her eyebrows nearly shoot into her hairline.

_Is this guy for real? He's like a child. _

Clearing her dry throat to regain some poise, she tries again, "The time. As in do you have a watch on you or something?"

"Oh!" he triumphantly claps a fisted hand into the open palm of the other and Sakura feels the corners of her mouth quirking into a small smile at finally getting somewhere.

"No, Tobi doesn't," he chirps happily while bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet.

Sakura muffles the growl of frustration rising in her throat by masking it with a second throat clearing, fighting to keep her expression amicable enough while in the company of such a wild card as whoever this Tobi person is.

"Well, thanks anyway," she says, her gaze unnervingly being dragged back to that single eye hole, "And for the card. Thank you."

She hopes he gets the clear message that this little meet and greet is over and she'd very much like for him to show himself out the door. He pauses for a moment, glancing around the room before setting his sights (though really she can only assume this due to the awful mask) back on the girl surrounded in a nest of sheets and pillows, her hair in disarray from nuzzling the softness of the goose down pillows. Tobi knows about the pillows. He makes forts out of all the spares when he gets bored of his normal assignments and decides to take an unannounced break.

"Tobi will be going. Tobi has important work to do!"

Sakura bobs her head in affirmation, an awkward "See ya," leaving her lips as the man waves much too enthusiastically in such close proximity before sharply turning on his heel and taking his leave. She doesn't release the breath she's been holding until she hears the close of the door, and even then she springs lightly from the bed to peak around the corner to ensure he hasn't merely feigned his departure. Heaving a tired sigh, she tosses her arms over her head and arches her back, stalling as she stretches out the tension and cracks in her worn body.

What to do now?

She's still exhausted; whether she got in two minutes or two hours of sleep before Tobi's interruption, there's no way anything less than eight more hours of sleep will be adequate to rejuvenate her.

Still, she hasn't a clue as to how soon breakfast will be ready. Stumbling on sleep-filled legs, the uncomfortable sensation of thousands of ants scurrying through her flesh, she makes her way over to the window to pull back the light blocking curtains and finds that the rain has ceased. Though still painted with a heavy layer of gray, a few weak rays of sunlight manage to pierce the sky and its dense cloud coverage.

Humming indecisively to herself, Sakura tromps back across the room and into the bathroom to take stock of her ghastly reflection with its too pale skin and tangled hair. And the robe. She needs real, substantial clothes. Already, the dull pain of another headache begins to make its presence known, or perhaps the last vestiges of the one from earlier never truly receded away. It's just one more thing to blame the Akatsuki for.

With mild aggravation, she attacks her hair, running her fingers under the sink's faucet to wet and then rake them through the hideous knots resisting her maintenance work. A part of self-deprecating nature asks why she's even bothering to tidy herself up while making herself at home amongst the Akatsuki. She has no need or obligation to make herself more appealing to them, no need to impress any one of those man slaughtering psychopaths. But another part of her, the prideful, vain, if not sometimes insecure part of her, notes that she is within her rights to make herself as comfortable as possible in such an impossible, inconvenient situation. If that means brushing out the rat's nest that is her hair and covering up the dark smudges under her eyes, then so be it.

Of course, a small part of that latter sentiment may also have some roots in the fact that her captor managed to look absolutely gorgeous even when dressed in prison garb and hacking his lungs out and she doesn't want to look like such a ragamuffin in the face of all that natural grace and beauty.

_Damn Uchiha._

She renews her efforts with a spiteful vengeance. She's not going to look like cat vomit in front of that man.

She wants to look strong. Calm. Collected. All the things she isn't feeling, but so desperately wants to when some unknown power is out to silence her.

_And silence me on what? What do they think I know?_

Using the small dryer attached to the wall, Sakura blow dries her damp tresses into light, airy waves that she knows will eventually settle back into a sheet of stick-straight hair. Regarding her face in the vanity mirror, she washes the sleep from her eyes and dejectedly mourns her lack of a purse or, basically, any of her personal effects. Rummaging through the pockets of her jeans from last night, her hand latches onto a candy wrapper sans caramel candy and a tube of cherry chapstick, the only cosmetic she currently has at her disposal. Delightedly, having forgotten she'd slipped it into her back pocket while creeping into her bedroom to catch the burglar-who-was-actually-Itachi in the act of pilfering her underwear drawer, Sakura's fingers clench around the smooth rectangle of her cellphone, its weight a small comfort in the palm of her hand.

_Aaaaaannnd it's dead._

The sparkle in her eyes is extinguished immediately as her despairing reflection is cast back at her in the darkened screen. Huffing, she sets the phone next to the sink. Maybe she could acquire a charger later; Itachi had, after all, mentioned something about picking up supplies later today. Swiftly assembling a list of necessities in her head from toothbrushes and deodorant to a sensible pair of shoes, Sakura scrunches her nose in displeasure about some of the more personal items she'd need for an unplanned stint away from the comforts of home.

Swiping the chapstick methodically across her lips, her mind drifts to thoughts of Konoha. For today, nothing would seem amiss to those closest to her. Her friends and parents weren't always privy to her days off as they tended to shift around on a weekly basis, but she had just spent some quality time with Ino the night before and made a phone call to her parents two days ago. For today, no one would bat an eye if Sakura Haruno went off the grid. But tomorrow will be a different story when she doesn't turn up for her hospital shift. When she doesn't answer the door for her police escort…

"Bleh!" Sakura's tongue swipes at the offending glob of chapstick she had smooshed too forcefully against her lips. Thoughts of the police force charged with her protection fills her with a mixture of conflicting emotions. Guilt for escaping with the man they had been tasked to defend her from. Fear that she had made the worst mistake in her life for listening to him. Anxiety that he may just be right about someone weaseling into such a position of trust in order to monitor her snooping into Shisui Uchiha's murder. Rage that Sai, someone she had known and attempted to befriend long before any of this came about, might just be that wolf in sheep's clothing.

The very idea makes her head spin with anger and betrayal, even paranoia that she can no longer trust those she had always been conditioned to go to if ever there was a serious problem and she needed help or protection. Instead of her hometown police, she had merrily skipped off hand-in-hand with the members of a terrorist organization.

_Am I insane?_

She caps the tube of chapstick, slapping it down on the granite tabletop of the vanity with an air of finality.

_No. I'm trying to play this smartly. I'm going to come out of this alive and well and when I do, I will wash my hands of the Akatsuki. The thought of them will never cross my mind again._

She knows it's a lofty goal.

With stiff shoulders, she shrugs out of her robe to dress herself in the undergarments she had thrown over the towel rack to dry from last night's misadventures in Wonderland. While their absence from her body is something she is not willing to tolerate, a sniff test of her clothing and the eclectic assortment of cigarette smoke, booze, and night air seemingly woven into the very fibers of their design has the young doctor covering herself once more in the terry cloth robe, cinching it snugly at the waist to ensure her modesty.

_Well, this is just terrific._

With her mood souring over her lack of proper clothing and the sense of vulnerability it gives her, Sakura collapses face first back onto the bed, refusing to accept that this is her reality now. As the minutes drag by, her limbs lose their rigidness, her spine unclenches, and she sinks into the mattress beneath her. Sakura's eyes are closed for no more than ten minutes when the light rap at the door has her eyelids snapping open, her nostrils exhaling an irritated, muffled breath of air into the sheets.

Answering the door, her hardened emerald eyes lock onto those of her visitor.

"Itachi," her voice is flat, unwelcoming, but she swings the door open to its fullest extent and steps back a few feet to allow him entrance.

"Breakfast will be served in ten minutes. I thought you might want a change of clothes."

Something in Sakura's expression softens at this gesture as she takes in the small bundle of clothing folded neatly and tucked against Itachi's side. The skin around Sakura's eyes loses some of its pinched tightness and her frown recedes as the bundle changes possession and her fingers smooth over the scarlet shirt on top of the stack.

"This will probably swallow me," she comments, not to sound too pleased, "But thank you."

"I did my best to find your approximate size. I'll be waiting in the hallway."

And just like that, the blank-faced Uchiha turns to leave her for the sake of her own privacy and Sakura is a bit miffed at his display of chivalry.

But she isn't put off so much that she doesn't gladly accept the rummaged clothing, quickly freeing herself of the robe and tugging the long-sleeved, cotton T-shirt over her head. It's a bit long and she has to cinch the waistband of the dark gray sweatpants as tight as she can to keep them from slipping past her hips, but altogether she at least looks presentable if a tad tomboyish.

_I look like I'm ready to hit the gym._

Shaking her head at herself as she takes one final glance in the mirror, she pockets her room key and rolls up the sleeves of her shirt to the elbows after her fingers continue to get lost in the cuffs.

Opening the door, she finds Itachi parked just to the right of it, leaning his back into the wall, one foot leisurely crossed over the ankle of the other. Sakura lightly smirks at the sight of him. With his arms loosely crossed and his neck hanging downward, she can tell he's nearly asleep on his feet, but he manages to easily transition into a wakeful state before Sakura can even open her mouth to rouse him. She realizes that even just catching him off guard like this must be a rarity.

* * *

The dining room is exactly what Sakura expected it would be after getting a feel for the very hotel-esque vibe of the building. A large open room with a wall of windows, a buffet, an open kitchen, and a grid of tables, chairs, and booths form the substance of the room. Red table cloths are draped across the dining surfaces, a pristine white plate and roll of silverware at each setting with a white linen napkin artfully folded into a crane and resting atop each plate.

It all seems a bit over-the-top and unnecessary in light of the few guests deigning the room with their presence.

At the longest table closest to the buffet is where the criminals she has made acquaintances with in the last day have chosen to seat themselves. Trays of pastries and fresh fruit, a heap of French toast, and a potluck-sized container of scrambled eggs are among the spread that has Sakura's eyes lighting up and her mouth salivating with desire. She watches as Deidara expertly selects a few choice pieces of bacon with the snap of a pair of tongs, threatening to whack Tobi across the back of his hand for simply using his fingers. Kisame is already seated and busily shoveling forkfuls of hash browns and eggs into his sharp-toothed mouth. Several used plates are already in a neat stack beside him.

Sasori is seated demurely a few places down from the one-man garbage disposal, with little more than some toast and half a grapefruit taking up space on his plate. Instead, he sips from a steaming mug and boredly scans through the pages of a newspaper, but as Sakura approaches with Itachi, his large, sleepy eyes settle on her figure and a spark of recognition flashes through his eyes.

"I thought someone had been in my room earlier," he states, eyeing Sakura and treating her to an accusatory once over before his eyes dart to the silent Uchiha as he drops one of the folded napkins on the table and claims a plate for himself.

"My apologies, Sasori. Sakura was in need of clean clothes," Itachi intones simply, moving to the buffet.

Sasori sniffs derisively, casting one last look at Sakura before resuming his reading, "Just don't make a habit of going through my things."

_Ugh, great. Why'd it have to be him of all people?_

Sasori was the one to so readily point a gun at her after surmising she wasn't the entertainment he and Deidara had first assumed her to be when she crashed their private party. Though looking at him, she supposes he is the closest to her size. Damn Itachi and his rationality. Resigned to the awkwardness of it all, Sakura soundlessly sighs as she picks up her own plate to join the congregation around the food.

Taking a seat across from her kidnapper with her plate piled as high as she could manage and a cinnamon roll clenched between her front teeth, Sakura ignores the nonplussed look thrown her way from across the table and tucks into her meal with fervor. If there's one good thing that can be said about the Akatsuki, they know how to do breakfast right. To her chagrin, Deidara takes a seat next to her with Tobi on his other side and something prods at Sakura's curiosity to let her eyes wander down the table to the masked man as he settles the napkin in his lap.

"Don't even bother, yeah," Deidara whispers under his breath as he lathers a slice of toast with butter, "You'll never get a peek at his face."

Not one to be thrown off by words of discouragement, Sakura settles about her own tasks of chewing and refilling her glass of orange juice, all the time glancing around at her surroundings from the landscape paintings framed on the walls to the stands of potted plants and even to the peculiar man managing to angle his mask just so and turn his face away ever so slightly as he devours his bacon and eggs. She doesn't even catch a glimpse of skin or the corner of his mouth. Nothing.

Mentally shaking her head at the weirdness, she catches Deidara giving her a knowing look as she quickly glances away at having been caught in her failure.

_These people need to be in a mental institute. _

Whoever would have guessed the Akatsuki would assemble to have breakfast like some kind of forced together, dysfunctional family?

_Wait a minute…_

"You liar!" Sakura's face snaps up from the remnants of food smeared on her plate as she glares at the Uchiha taking his time while delicately nibbling on a chunk of pineapple. Deidara's butter knife clatters to his plate in surprise at the loud outburst.

Sakura's fingers claw at the napkin bunched in her lap, "You told me that the Akatsuki doesn't have a headquarters for meetings! I asked you that when you were still in Suna."

Resentment colors her cheeks as her eyebrows converge in a scowl. But it is not the man whom she has directed her ire at that answers her outraged allegation.

Deidara scoffs, "What did you expect? The truth, yeah? You're either really naïve or really stupid if you thought Itachi wasn't going to lie to you. That's what he does, yeah," Deidara gives a half careless shrug, picking up his utensils again to finish cutting his French toast into neat, bite-sized pieces.

And something alarming rings true in Deidara's statement, something that could mean very bad news for Sakura. Maybe she really is too stupid and naïve and, yes, maybe Itachi is a liar. But her whole safety in being here is banking on the fact that he wouldn't lie _to her_. The fact that he already has, and quite easily, doesn't bode well for her.

Trepidation trickles down Sakura's spine as she suddenly feels too full for comfort and pushes back away from the table, at a loss as to what she can do to save herself.

_I think I'm going to be sick._

Deidara edges a little further away from her in his seat, recognizing the signs of nausea leaking into the pink-haired girl's worrisome expression.

"Sakura."

The voice is calm yet demanding, brooking no room for protest as he claims her attention. Meekly, Sakura raises her gaze to the dark eyes watching her carefully from across the table while silently demanding her stomach to comply with her wishes to settle down.

"I did lie about that, but you can understand my reasoning. I was merely protecting the organization I intended to return to. That is all," he breaks eye contact with her, reaching for the sugar packets nestled in a small dish upon the table. Sakura wordlessly stares, entranced at the sight of a murderer casually stirring in some extra sugar to his cup of tea to satisfy his sweet tooth. Every time Sakura thinks she's gotten a handle on the total surrealness of her situation, she is thrown for a loop and completely shaken over how she ended up in this murderer's company.

"There's a lot I need you to answer for me," Sakura at last breaks the tense silence. Even Kisame has taken a breather from his biscuits and gravy to tune into the heated conversation.

"We will have a chance to discuss your questions later. For now – "

"No," Sakura cuts him off flatly, not caring about niceties or manners, "Not later. _Now_," she replies emphatically, "You can't expect me to just let you lead me around blindly without knowing exactly what I'm up against. I still don't even know why I'm trusting you," she eyes him suspiciously, crossing her arms.

Itachi regards her in silence for a moment and Sakura has to muster every ounce of stubbornness in her body in order to not be intimidated into looking away. At last, he clasps his hands under his chin, resting his elbows on the table.

"What is it you would like to know?"

Sakura inhales deeply, not having expected he would relent so easily, "I want to know about the man who's after me. I want to know about Shisui's murder," she looks directly into the bottomless depths of Itachi's eyes, prepared to face a nightmare.

But the abrupt commotion of Tobi rising from his seat has everyone's attention as the masked man wordlessly stalks out of the dining hall through one of the side exits, his napkin hastily thrown down on his plate in a twisted heap.

"What's with him, yeah?" Deidara mumbles with mild annoyance.

But his departure has Itachi pinching the skin between his eyes and Sakura takes stock of the dark circles gathering beneath those dark pits she had just been fiercely staring into.

_But I can't back down now. Show no sympathy._

"Come with me. We will have this discussion elsewhere," Itachi replies as he stands from the table, turning to leave back from the way the two had come.

Quickly, Sakura scrambles to her feet, noting with mild guilt gnawing at her thoughts that Itachi is leaving behind a plate of half-eaten fruit and a scoop of eggs he has yet to touch. She needs to speak to him about his treatment as well. This talk can't be put off any longer.

Jogging to catch up to his quick strides, Sakura restrains the question fighting to bubble forth and ask why they can't stay and finish breakfast with the others. Surely Itachi is someone who knows how to multitask. But prudently she keeps her lips sealed as he leads her out to the front lobby and up the central staircase to a row of elevators that necessitate card access. Sakura bites her lip as he presses a rapid series of digits into the keypad and the elevator shuttles them skyward to the twenty-fifth floor that spits them out into a hallway unremarkably like her own. But Itachi silently leads her past door after door until they turn the corner at the end that leads them down a bland, carpeted stretch to a single, unassuming door at the very end. She'd raise her eyebrows at Itachi's odd insistence for distancing himself from the rest of his supposed comrades to have this talk with her, but the stoic man doesn't let up in his relentless pace, not even to ensure she's still following briskly on his heels.

When he pushes the door inward, the interior of the room reveals perhaps one of the most unexpected sights Sakura had not prepared herself for: a library. Heavy volumes of complete encyclopedia collections are shelved among numerous history and geographical texts. Maps, both local and global, decorate the hardwood paneled walls while a collection of sofas and tables dot the open room for leisure reading. With the thick curtains drawn apart, enough natural light filters in through the windows that Sakura can read the titles with ease from the spines of the nearest books. Medical journals, economic theories, military stratagems, and, oddly enough, a small quantity on botany are just a few of the books within arm's reach. She would assume there is little rhyme or reason to the organization of the Akatsuki's sizeable literature collection, but Itachi leads her past a computer kiosk at the end of one of the shelves.

_Incredible._

But Itachi passes by the stacks of books with little interest, opting for a bank of cabinets along the far wall of the library. Despite the heavy, rich woodwork of the library, the filing cabinets are simple and modern, rather disappointing in comparison to the leather reclining chairs and self-serving wine cabinet with its sparkling glassware. But this is where Itachi leads her, automatically pulling out one of the filing drawers near the bottom from the cabinet second from the right. Sakura's eyes watch hungrily as his pale fingers pluck forth a folder and a rather large, three-ringed binder from the back recesses of the drawer. Straightening up, he beckons her to follow him to the nearest couch where he takes a seat, silently waiting for Sakura to do so as well.

Suddenly nervous, Sakura swallows as delicately as she can, her full attention on the documents resting innocently in Itachi's lap as she takes a seat beside him, mindful that she doesn't sit too close nor too far away.

"What I'm about to show you, you'd be better off not knowing. Truly, I say this for your own safety. Perhaps even more for your own peace of mind," Itachi begins quietly, bringing the binder to rest on top of the borrowed items; Sakura's eyes are too slow to catch the letters on the small label plastered across the spine.

Sakura frowns lightly, meeting Itachi's equally stern gaze, "I'm not the type to pride myself on my ignorance."

This seems to ease some of the strain from Itachi's features, if only marginally as a light, thin-lipped smile peaks into existence.

"I know," he pauses, "But I also know that should I fail in protecting you, should you fall into the wrong hands, what I share with you will most certainly be discovered," his eyebrows scrunch ever so lightly in thought, "And your fate will almost certainly be sealed. These people will not negotiate with you."

An inkling of regret flitters across Sakura's thoughts, a chilly finger dragged down her spine. She eyes the binder warily, but it is nothing more than a fleeting instant of weakness as she straightens her back under Itachi's scrutiny, her mind made up.

"Show me."

Itachi's index finger traces the edge of the binder as his gaze drops to his lap in a moment of hesitation.

At such close proximity, Sakura can smell the sweet tang of pineapple still lingering on his breath, and even in the dim sunlight the tear troughs lining his face are clearly pronounced, throwing her perception of him into conflict over how he can appear so young yet so aged. Life has not cast Itachi Uchiha a favorable hand…Though her thoughts are quick to amend that that assertion may not be accurate. From just about anyone's perspective, Itachi had been reasonably blessed with a good family, a comfortable home, various talents…yet, he had thrown everything away. He had thrown the dice back in life's face.

Surely there has to be a reason for such an action. Such a blatant "screw you" to the world.

"Danzo Shimura," Itachi begins, his voice regaining its quiet timbre that settles easily upon her ears, "He is the man behind the threats and attacks against you. He is the founder and leader of the underground organization known as ROOT," he pauses, flicking open the binder cover to the first page of the record on which a colored picture of the man in question is shown up close and blank-faced, indifferent to the photographer, "And he is the one responsible for my cousin's death."

Sakura's eyes widen at the admission as she glances down at the dispassionate face of the elderly man in his business suit. Something important itches at the back of Sakura's brain as she silently repeats his name again and again.

_That's right!_

Danzo Shimura is the most senior member of Konoha's Council and has his name on practically every major facility in the city, from hospitals to libraries to schools. Any politician he gives his public support of is all but guaranteed to win their election. He's an old man accustomed to getting his way through any means of manipulation necessary; her mentor, Tsunade, has not so kindly made remarks behind closed doors about the numerous occasions the old geezer had thrown his weight (and his money) around during Council meetings to push his projects and ambitions to the forefront of Konoha's agenda.

Truly, he is one of the most influential people of Konoha, from budgeting to taxing, from hiring and replacing civil employees, he holds a lot of sway over the average citizen's life whether the public is aware of it or not. As for ROOT, Sakura has heard little more than whispers of its existence and certainly nothing all too positive, but never had anyone claimed there was a connection between it and Danzo. Her perception of them had always been a cross between a secret police force and a highly efficient gang.

Itachi passes the binder into Sakura's lap, permitting her to peruse it at her own pace. It settles against her thighs with a noticeable weight and Sakura stares in astonishment at the amount of paperwork the Akatsuki have managed to procure on the old man.

Her thumb rifles through the corner of the stack, glimpsing photos of the councilman and his various associates at nearly every angle imaginable. From a high-scale awards banquet to what looks like a private, quiet moment lounging in his garden, the many facets of Danzo Shimura's life are documented with meticulous detail. Eventually, the glossy photo scans turn to crisp pages under her fingertips and blocks of dense, typed print greet her eyes. At the top she notes the dates each report was written, some in the beginning going as far back as ten years ago, and the name of each Akatsuki member tasked with writing the report is listed under the date. A few are written by a man named Kakuzu and just skimming quickly through his files, most of his focus appears to be on Danzo's financial records. Resources, properties, and sums larger than Sakura will ever amass in her entire life glare back at her in no-nonsense type. Eventually, the dates draw closer to the present, bringing her through names of Konan and Kisame and then Sasori. Their entries mark different occasions during which Danzo gained public recognition during his political campaigns as well as some under the table bribes and well-placed threats to those who stood in his way. Deidara's provide some of the most colorful commentary on his subject matter as her eyes are hooked by words like "ancient" and "needs to kick the bucket already," but she deduces that he is largely responsible for the massive collection of photographs as he references several of the numbered images.

By and by, Sakura's eyes dart back and forth with increasing speed, visually gobbling up the words as fast as her mind can process their meaning. She supposes it should come as little surprise that the vast bulk of the reports come from the man seated patiently beside her, his hands gingerly clasping onto a considerably leaner file folder, its edges dulled and fuzzed with wear, its color a faded brown.

"I never knew he was behind all these things," Sakura mutters as she flips from a page on the foreclosure of nearly two blocks of residences in order to develop the land for a new business venture Danzo had a substantial amount of stock in. Her frown deepens as she reads over the account made by Sasori some three years prior concerning the untimely death of a rival candidate for Danzo's current seat on the Council. The man had been considerably younger with a wife and daughter, yet he had died unexpectedly a month before the election due to what the newspapers deemed natural causes. The final say on the matter had never sat right with Sakura, but like most things revolving around politics, she had dismissed her troubled thoughts as the demands of her own life took precedence. But Sasori had dug deeper, acquiring an initial, unpublished report from the autopsy that had gone "missing" with the help of a little hush money. The man had been infected by a rare, exotic parasite that must have somehow been ingested. Yet, the parasite is known from only one small territory in the world, a foreign country that neither the man nor his family had ever visited.

Similar accounts of foul play for varying reasons spot the councilman's record like blood. But even as she nears the end of the binder, paying careful attention to the reports listed under Itachi's name, she has yet to come across a single mention of Shisui.

"Itachi," Sakura speaks softly, "Where's Shisui in all of this?"

Of course, as fewer pages remain to be searched in the binder, Sakura has the suspicion that Itachi is holding back the information relating to his cousin in the file lying across his knees. Not once does he open it, but Sakura gets the distinct impression that his cousin is waiting to be revealed behind the face of that brown, nondescript folder.

_The truth._

"It took a long time to gather all the information in this file. My cousin wasn't someone with a high profile, he was just a kid after all," he says, a great sadness weighing heavy in his tone as he passes the folder into Sakura's hands though she declines to open it just yet. It feels wrong without first getting his go-ahead.

"ROOT is a shadow organization; their operations are highly secretive, their intentions little known, but they report to Danzo, that much is clear. Likely, they are merely the hired hands to carry out his dirty work with the utmost confidentiality. Tracking down the man who," Itachi's right hand, once resting limply atop his knee, curls into a white-knuckled fist, "_Executed_ Shisui took years. Even just to learn his face and name."

"Wait," Sakura interjects confusedly, "So Danzo didn't kill him?"

Itachi's jaw clenches; it's the most vulnerable, honest emotion she has ever witnessed from the man, "No, not directly. But he gave the orders. He might as well have."

He clears his throat delicately, looking away out the window as Sakura watches him for a moment, uncertain of what to do. But Itachi remains mute and after a prolonged silence in which neither dares search out the other's gaze, Sakura's unsteady hands carefully open the cover of the folder.

_Shisui…_

He was a handsome boy. The face looking back at her is the same as the one she had gazed upon with Ino all those years ago while pouring over old yearbooks. The long, unkempt tufts of hair and eyelashes that would make any girl envious, he was touched with the Uchihas' good looks.

Sakura turns the page, the sound nearly causing her to flinch in the stillness of the library. Silence weighs on her like a wet blanket; Itachi may have even stopped breathing. Just to be safe, her eyes flicker over to the statue-like man, but his posture remains unchanged, his eyes fixed on some faraway point through the windows as she glances back down at the file with a heavy heart.

Notes on Shisui's schedule from classes to sports practices to orthodontist appointments are recorded in an effort to piece together the normal routine of the boy's life. Names of close relatives and friends are either starred or crossed out; she even recognizes the names of the high school principal and several teachers.

_What was he doing? Making a suspects list?_

Turning through the lists of contacts and daily activities, she eventually comes across some old information: the tutoring sessions he participated in during his last few months alive. She hadn't found anything particularly noteworthy about that other than Shisui seemed to have a good head on his shoulders and an interest in community service, but someone had fixated on this particular detail of his life. As Sakura's eyes scan over the name of the young elementary student Shisui had been mentoring, an inkling of suspicion tickles at her thoughts.

Konohamaru Sarutobi.

He was only two grade levels behind Sakura but had attended a different elementary school in the city. And while the little boy himself wasn't a particularly surprising figure, his grandfather certainly was…

And from there it was like plunging down the worm hole from one conspiracy to the next until Sakura's head is spinning with the early warning pulses of a headache.

_Who could possibly want to do away with Hiruzen? _

The man was a well-known and beloved member of the community, involved in its government but also participating in ways that put him much closer to the people, whether it was through after school pick-up games at the park or organizing park cleaning events.

"I don't understand," she says at last, breaking Itachi from his glazed-eye reverie. Her finger holds her place as she shuts the folder closed, unwilling to look any closer at the gruesome photographs from the aftermath of Shisui's death. The brief, accidental glimpse is enough to imprint the images on her memory for the rest of her life.

_They need to make some type of steel wool to scrub your mind clean._

"It's simple and it's not," Itachi replies promptly enough despite his near sleep-like appearance, "My cousin was in the wrong place at the wrong time and that's all it took. He knew little more than the kind of sensitive information you now hold, but Danzo is not one to take chances. As I said, he's not the type to negotiate for your silence. And he wasn't going to with my cousin. He was just a kid," something like scorn seeps into his tone, "Kids can make promises without understanding the far-reaching implications of giving their word. Danzo wasn't going to pay off a child's silence for the rest of his life, particularly when that child happened to be in a family such as mine."

"And he orchestrated your cousin's death for the sake of covering his plans to do away with Hiruzen. But…Why was he after him in the first place?"

"Hiruzen Sarutobi and Danzo Shimura have a long history with each other and that being said, they don't see eye-to-eye on many of the governing policies of Konoha. Danzo had petitioned on numerous occasions for Hiruzen to be removed from his seat on the Council, but it never happened as Danzo was known to be the antagonizer. No one would take his complaints seriously that his rival was impeding the system. I think he eventually reached a point that he could no longer sit by and have his voice go unheard. He took matters into his own hands with fatal results."

"And the part with your family…?" Sakura prompts, the gears of her mind turning furiously to fully comprehend Danzo's animosity toward the Uchiha.

"Old prejudices. Rivalries, perhaps. It's difficult to say with a man like him. But one of Sarutobi-san's projects was restructuring and out-fitting the Konoha Police Force with more up-to-date equipment and modern training practices. It enabled many of the members of my family a prominent place in the community as it was due to Hiruzen's nomination that my father was appointed chief of police," Itachi sighs tiredly, "It was unfortunate that Shisui was an Uchiha. If not…"

Sakura furrows her eyebrows in thought, "No, such a simple difference wouldn't have mattered," her frown deepens as her breakfast sits heavily in her stomach while those horrible images flash though her mind's eye, "Not to a man like Danzo. Not to someone willing to kill a child just to save face," Sakura spits, repulsed.

Itachi closes his eyes, inhaling so deeply that Sakura can easily see the swell of his chest.

"But why," Sakura's voice shakes with her emotion, her inner storm warring with indecision over whether to sympathize with the man at her side still obviously grieving over the loss of his family member, or if she should completely wall herself off from the entire convoluted mess. Sure, an innocent, teenage boy had been killed for a petty, despicable reason, but that didn't wipe Itachi's slate clean. She couldn't justify all his wrongdoings just because of how he had been wronged…Could she?

"Why," Sakura clears her throat, gaining strength, "Why haven't you done anything? Why haven't you revealed all this to the public? Why – ?"

She chokes off on the end of her sentence, startled by where her own line of thinking had been leading her.

_Why haven't you killed Danzo?_

"Because I made a promise," Itachi answers bitterly, dark flames dancing in his eyes.

'_Kids can make promises without understanding the far-reaching implications of giving their word.'_

"You asked how someone gets picked up by an organization like Akatsuki. You wanted to know how a teenager could get himself on the radar of a world-class terrorist group," the bitter anger turns into a grim smirk at the awful memory, "And I told you it all depends on who you know – I didn't lie about that. I made a deal, Sakura," he says, alarming her as he twists his torso to meet her straight on, a hand sinking down into the couch cushion between them.

It's pent-up anger. It's hostile. It's the Itachi she has always thought he was from all the news reports and town gossip. It makes her shoulders hunch inward, her chin tucking back into her neck for protection against his feral bite.

"I was a kid in way over my head with little more than suspicions to go on. That's when I was approached by a man who offered to help me track down my cousin's killer. But no information is free. In exchange for his help, I had to work for him."

Sakura's eyes go wide, impossibly so as she feels the strain at the outer corners of her eyelids.

"And I did because I believed Shisui would've done the same for me."

Sakura's lips part, stunned into silence before forcibly shaking her head, her brows knitting together in agitation.

"No, that's still…The things you've done, _Itachi_," she says his name like a plea, a plea that he'll refute every bad thing that's ever been tacked onto his name, "All of this has gone too far. If you've figured out Shisui's murder, if you have evidence of all these crimes Danzo has perpetrated, there's no reason – " Sakura splutters, grasping for a coherent strand of thought, "There's no reason, no justification, for all the assassinations! The coup d'états! Everything you've done as a member of Akatsuki!"

Sakura sucks in a breath, feeling heat creep up the back of her neck at her exertion.

"Why can't you just leave it behind you? _Just leave Akatsuki_!"

"Because now I'm not avenging a loved one's death, now I'm trying to prevent one," he stares at her with the dull eyes of a dead man, the hungry flames extinguished under the enormity of his obligation.

_He's being forced to stay?_

Gradually, the puzzle pieces fall into place. The coercion. The recruitment. The only question is what leverage does this unknown person hold over someone like Itachi…

"Who?" her voice would be inaudible if not for their close proximity.

Yet, already she knows whose name will fall from his lips, but she has to hear it. The masochist in her raves to hear the name summoned aloud, for it to be spilled forth like sacrificial blood.

"Sasuke."

_Sasuke._

Somehow, everything in Sakura's life always leads back to Sasuke.

* * *

**Author's Note:**** I'll try to answer some things brought up in reviews without revealing too much. This isn't going to be an overly romantic story, but undercurrents of romance will show up here and there. Just keep in mind that it's going to be a ways before anything remotely noteworthy on that front happens as I like to keep things relatively believable and in this, Sakura perceives Itachi to be a terrorist. The organization he seemingly abandoned his home for is world renowned for dipping its hands into revolutions and political turnovers, not to mention assassinations. So any sympathy or understanding she has for Itachi is going to take a while to build, though a tiny bit of groundwork has been laid for that. Sasuke will be in this story, and while other characters may make mention of him, there's a chance he won't make an actual appearance until around the end. **

**I'm going to be leaving on a trip that's going to take up a large part of my summer and possibly not allow me much time for writing or Internet access…We'll see. That being said, I'll try to post one more chapter before leaving, but no promises (that's why I made this chapter a bit longer than usual). **

**Yay! Some of the mystery is coming unraveled! Don't worry if you're still confused over a lot of what Itachi reveals to Sakura through the files and their conversation, I plan on expanding upon what exactly happened to Shisui as Sakura takes some quiet time to process everything (likely in the next chapter). What you can keep straight in your head at this point is that Danzo put an order out to kill Shisui for some reason relating to Konohamaru and Hiruzen. The dastardly deed was done, Itachi took it into his own hands to look into his cousin's disappearance believing foul play was afoot, a "mysterious stranger" shows up offering to help him track down his cousin's killer, but in exchange Itachi has to accept recruitment into Akatsuki. On top of that, Itachi is trapped in this arrangement because of some perceived threat to his brother.**

**And for any that didn't catch it, Hidan was the motorcycle rider briefly seen in chapter 10. **


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:**** Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto.**

**Rated M:**** Due to coarse language, violence, and some adult themes.**

* * *

_Sasuke-kun._

Her very thoughts speak the name as though seeking absolution. What would he think of her now, cozied up on a couch with his big brother – the very man he had idolized before having the ground torn out from beneath him, plunging him into doubt over everything he had been brought up to count on?

_But if everyone knows the truth, if I tell them what I know, couldn't everything change for Itachi? For his family?_

Troubled, pink eyebrows furrow together with apprehension over the repercussions of staying mum. Maybe Itachi can't be fully absolved of his crimes, as they cover a fairly extensive list of felonies, but maybe the world wouldn't demonize this man who had been coerced into giving up his childhood for the chance of bringing justice to those who had slain his cousin, his best friend.

Her eyes are burning, both from lack of sleep and a stubborn attempt to remain passive to some of the most impossible, twisted news she has ever been confronted with.

"Who's after Sasuke?" she gulps, thoughts racing as to how she can possibly get ahold of her old crush. Perhaps, if she can persuade her way into getting a phone charger, she can fire off a text to Naruto to get on the case of tracking down Sasuke's last known contact information. The ramen-obsessed loudmouth had been the only one to ever receive any word from Sasuke after he had parted ways from Konoha after high school. It had been sparse, infrequent correspondence, but Sakura had always felt a pang of jealousy in her heart the handful of times Naruto would slip in some new tidbit of information of Sasuke's whereabouts into their conversations. It hurt Sakura to be left out of the loop, yet to hear the news secondhand from Naruto was still better than nothing at all. It's how she got ahold of his mailing address at one of the military bases he was stationed at years ago.

"Sasuke will remain safe provided that I uphold my end of the bargain," Itachi responds simply, and it irks Sakura how calmly he has resigned himself to such a fate.

"That's ridiculous! I mean, a lifetime of servitude as a terrorist in exchange for some information? Danzo is still at large. You didn't get anything out of this arrangement at all!" she cries, her palm slapping down on the cover of the folder, making her flinch at her own actions.

_Sorry, Shisui…_

Grimacing lightly, she removes her hand, instead moving it to a position that allows her to grip the edge of the seat cushion underneath her, her nails marring the crackled texture.

"On the contrary," he leans into the leather cushion, letting his head rest on the back of the couch, draping his arms along the length of it, "As you saw in the file, I tracked down the name of the man who executed my cousin. It took several years after joining the Akatsuki," his eyes slant open, his irises lazily focusing on her face, "But I found him."

_Oh._

"Is – Is he…Did you…?"

Her mouth no longer seems to function properly, her tongue much too sluggish and tangled to assist her racing thoughts.

"He was a new inductee into ROOT when he was assigned Shisui's assassination. Perhaps that is why he was given such a gruesome job, to prove that he could stomach the kind of work Danzo needed taken care of…I found him…A long way outside of Konoha on another assignment, but no," he treats Sakura to a telling, albeit insincere smirk, "I know what you're thinking. I didn't kill him."

"Really?" Sakura can't help that one, stupid word from squeaking out, "I mean, I wouldn't have been surprised if…"

_Damn it, Sakura! I just really need to keep my mouth shut._

"It was difficult, I admit," the strain in Itachi's posture abates as the back of his skull sinks once more into the edge of the couch, his eyelids lowering to rest in the memory, "To face that man and know his was the last face Shisui ever saw. The thought crossed my mind to do exactly what he had done. Or worse. But," Itachi inhales deeply, "Ultimately, I couldn't. Instead, I ensured he would never be able to pull a trigger again."

Sakura's eyes widen at the thinly veiled outcome. She doesn't know if it's the proper thing to say, but then again she's currently wearing one criminal's clothes while talking to another, so who gives a fuck about propriety at this point?

"That must've taken a lot of control. If I was in your position, well…I don't know what I would've done. I'm not sure I could've just walked away like that."

Itachi remains quiet for a moment, the steady rise and fall of his ribcage offering the only signs of life stirring within the young man. Sakura begins to think he's reached his limit of talking for the day, and it has been a considerable amount for someone like him. But just as she gently places Shisui's folder on the low-sitting coffee table before them, he startles her by speaking.

"I don't think you should kill for those you love, but you should be ready to die for them."

His neck tilts slightly to the side to look at her and Sakura's thoughts are filled with ordering this man to go to bed.

_He's blind to his own body's needs. Or just really stubborn._

"What do you think?" he asks.

"Oh, um," Sakura hesitates as her inner monologue trails off, "Well, I think," she cuts herself off, shaking her head to regain focus and better perspective of her priorities, "Wait, it doesn't matter what I think. Itachi! Look at yourself; you're dead on your feet. You need sleep and we need to start back on your treatment…Although, I don't know how," Sakura looks down at her lap, "You've made that little detail difficult as we're no longer in a hospital."

"It's fine," Itachi replies carelessly, unhurried over the implications of his deteriorating health, "I have a supplier. It's part of what Kisame was handling before he picked us up last night."

Sakura blinks at this disclosure, her expression controlled and placid, ever the professional in the field of medicine and challenging patients.

"Then what am I here for?" she scoffs, partly dubious, partly put out by her unnecessary presence. She has been under the assumption that she has some kind of purpose or value to Itachi that plays into her whole reason for being held within the confines of Akatsuki headquarters. But if all of this has been a clever, ego-boosting ruse devised by the unapologetic Uchiha at her side, she's now little more than an unwanted guest.

"Do not fret, Doctor. Your knowledgeable input and vigilant monitoring will still be appreciated, but I have already known my diagnosis for quite some time. I've held the worst of it at bay this long and will continue to do so until my work is done," Itachi informs the shocked medic as he rises to his feet, collecting the files to return to their place of safe-keeping.

Sakura struggles to extricate herself from her sunken position in the couch cushions, silently scurrying after her captor with bare feet. A smidge of insult coupled with the old insecurities of uselessness threaten to break past the dam she's so carefully constructed within herself, but she quickly overrides the weak, negative feelings with a more powerful emotion she can bend to her advantage: self-righteous indignation.

Stomping right up to Itachi's back as he leans over to slot the binder into its proper place, the young doctor chides, "I'm more than just a consult, _Uchiha-san_," her voice is clipped, and she tries to temper it, to better win over the man she doubts she'll ever gain the true favor of, "And what? You lied to me? How long have you known about your heart failure?"

"I didn't lie," he states succinctly, rising to his full height to tower over her diminutive stature, but Sakura is not one to back down from vertical intimidation tactics. She's better than that and Itachi knows it.

"You never asked if I already knew, you just assumed I didn't," he clarifies, "And it wasn't so significant that I needed to correct you. You need to be here for your own safety. Akatsuki has its own means of keeping tabs on people of interest and we will personally ensure your protection until the threat can be eliminated," something small plays at his lips, but it is so faint and unusual that Sakura is not confident enough to classify it as a smile, "But rest assured, Sakura, I do not undervalue your medical expertise."

This statement is enough to set Sakura's thoughts buzzing, but he takes it one step further by placing a light hand on Sakura's shoulder. The touch is so fleeting, his hand dropping back down to his side as he moves around her frozen form, that Sakura nearly trips over her feet as she spins around to hurry after him.

Amused by his uncharacteristic display of geniality, Sakura quickly eats away the distance between them as she slides into step beside the sleep-starved man.

"But I'm confused over something," she starts as they turn the corner in the hall, making their way back to the elevator, "Why did you end up in Konoha in the first place? If you already knew of your condition and had your own medical supplier, you didn't exactly need to bloody yourself up to get a speedy escort to the hospital," she pauses, reminding herself of just who exactly it is she's speaking to, "Did you?"

"Ah," he hums in accord, "There was a small mishap with my previous supplier and I could no longer rely on his discretion. In a way, I did need to pay a visit to the hospital. But it was all a matter of coincidence. You recall the date I returned?"

"Yeah. You were all over the newspapers and TV. How could I not?"

"Yes, but think. What happened not long before that?"

"I dunno," Sakura shrugs to herself, slipping away into her thoughts. She can barely rely on her memory to inform her of what she had for breakfast the previous morning, much less what happened in the news months ago.

But Itachi isn't willing to give her a hint, letting her frustration rise until she nearly slaps her face at being so callously forgetful.

"Right. The funeral," she says somberly, catching Itachi's light nod from her periphery.

"With Hiruzen's death, I was worried that Danzo might make a move to replace my father and some of the other members of my family, civilly or otherwise," he pauses, coughing lightly into the crease of his elbow before continuing, "It was a selfish reason to return and cause so much fuss, but I couldn't rest easily while Danzo might be plotting to harm more of my family. It was necessary to let him know I am still watching."

Sakura wants to tell him it's not selfish. It's not selfish at all.

"How did you get to City Hall like that though?"

They hadn't run any photographs in the news articles and the nightly broadcasts had refused to air what little video footage there surely must have been from the dash cams in the police cruisers, but Sakura had seen firsthand the kind of shape Itachi turned up in at the hospital. It wasn't pretty. His torso was peppered with bruises that quickly amassed into a singular, ugly stain of aching purple, his nose was crusted with dried blood that had trickled down split lips, and his hands and forearms were littered with cuts and scrapes she had painstakingly cleansed with antiseptic.

"I'm not sure I understand," his voice carries a lingering air of aloofness, "I placed a call to the police station that I would be waiting for them on the steps of City Hall. I was dropped off a few streets over and walked there to meet them."

The omission from his account rams into her like a freight train.

_They did that to him. The police…_

That little, jagged puzzle piece snaps into place so violently that Sakura fights to contain her gasp of revelation, filled with sympathy and anger and confusion over just who exactly her fury should be directed toward.

Itachi had peacefully turned himself over to police custody, but they could not withhold their pent up rage so they gave into the temptation of getting in a few cheap shots on the man passively sitting on the pristine, marbled steps of their city hall. Brutality in the face of such peaceful submission makes Sakura's stomach churn at the injustice.

_But they believed he was evil. No matter what their suspicions were over his innocence involving Shisui, we've all seen the evidence of his cruelty as a member of Akatsuki._

But Sakura knows the issue isn't so simple anymore. Itachi is just as much a victim (if his word is anything to go on), wrapped around the finger of whoever is pulling the strings in Akatsuki. He didn't deserve to be the punching bag of those officers' malice.

Hell, some of them may have been related to him.

And since when had she started using "was" and "believed" in the context of Itachi's crimes. Isn't he still guilty?

She honestly doesn't know at this point.

All she knows is that Itachi is a force to be reckoned with. He had gotten in and out of detainment by walking straight into the town he had left behind under suspicious circumstances, obtained the medical care he needed, all while simultaneously warning Danzo not to raise a finger against his family.

_Unbelievable._

Sakura shakes her head to herself, quickly coming to just as the doors _ping_ open on the floor of her suite and she steps into the hallway. Itachi places a hand in the doorway, stalling the timed close.

"I'm going to listen to my doctor's orders and get some rest. We will settle matters of getting any supplies you may need later in the afternoon. For now, I ask that you keep to your room."

With that dismissal he removes his hand and slips away from view as the doors shut in Sakura's face.

* * *

So far, her stay with the Akatsuki can be summed up in one word: dull. And while it might not be the wisest to grow placid and comfortable tucked away from the rest of the world in her suite, Sakura really can't help her sluggish mood and apathy to it all when she has little more than a TV and some half-remembered yoga poses to occupy her time.

While someone (she suspects it was some lesser subordinate) was sent to retrieve her hastily thrown together list of supplies, furnishing her with a comforting array of beauty products to remind her of home as well as a respectably stocked closet, she was denied her request of a cell phone charger. Itachi had actually been a bit annoyed with himself when she brought it up.

Instead of having her polite request met, she had her phone confiscated so that she would not be tempted to use it and risk disclosing her location to anyone trying to track her whereabouts.

Like the police.

If she had had the convenience of her purse and wallet with her credit and debit cards, those would have surely been swiped from her fingers as well so that her account activity could not reveal her movements. As it stands, she's living off of the Akatsuki's dime for now.

Of course, a snide voice in her head chirps how all of this is massive overkill and completely unnecessary when she's basically a caged animal, albeit a comfortably caged animal. There simply isn't the chance for her to do anything. Instead, she's left with her thoughts and anxieties over returning home.

She can only pray that her parents aren't completely inconsolable over her disappearance and pray even more that they'll be able to forgive her for causing such a scare. Being an only child comes with some weighty responsibilities of being accountable and present for coveting purposes (occasionally to Sakura's irritation).

She has been gifted with a lackluster, prepaid phone for the purpose of staying in contact with Itachi as he goes about…whatever he does for Akatsuki. The clunky device is like a paperweight in her hand, lacking the sleek shine of her own phone and certainly without all the razzle dazzle hers offers with its multitude of apps. She can't even distract herself with a game of 2048 and going through her dismal, fake list of contacts sends a ghostly twinge of awkwardness through her as memories of her freshman year of high school play through her head. That had been a lonely time being separated from Ino in most of her classes, someone she had almost solely depended upon for any kind of social outlet.

Now, looking down at the soft, greenish glare of the screen and its fuzzy lettering, she has all of two people she can get in touch with: Itachi and Tobi. The latter had been added in just for the sake of having someone else she could reach in the event that Itachi must go off the grid and she needs immediate assistance. But really, the masked man's correspondence has served the more mundane role of alleviating her absolute boredom and isolation from the rest of the world. He doesn't seem the least bit put off by her sudden intrusion into the Akatsuki's inner sanctum and will frequently text her with random jokes or rambling opinions that, while odd, help Sakura feel a bit more at ease in the midst of such an organization.

Of course, the thought has crossed her mind once or twice to shoot off a short text to her parents to ease them of their worries, if only slightly. But the stern expression of Itachi when he first handed over her replacement cell phone, warning her not to contact anyone outside of the Akatsuki, replays over and over whenever she gets the rebellious itch to do so.

_Although it is kind of funny to think after wanting Sasuke's number for so long I end up with his brother's._

Certainly, not many people could boast of that privilege.

Not that she exactly has the liberty to do so at the moment either…

Sighing, she heaves herself up off the carpeted floor, disentangling her limbs from her pseudo-meditation pose in favor of taking a look outside the window.

_More rain. How surprising._

Moving away from the dismally bleak view of the cityscape, she opts to leave the curtains open in the futile hope that the sun might make an appearance later for the sake of lifting her low spirits.

Like clockwork, the brisk knock rattles her door and Sakura's socked feet shuffle her away from the window to retrieve her lunch.

"Tobi?" Sakura blinks owlishly, her voice slightly scratchy from disuse as she stares up at the man who is decidedly not her tray of lunch.

"Hiiii, Sakura-chan! Tobi is here to deliver Sakura to the dining room," he chirps, his voice surprisingly unmuffled despite the eyesore of a mask obstructing his face.

This is unusual for Sakura as her meals ever since her first breakfast with the Akatsuki have been taken alone in her room, a tray delivered just outside her door at regular intervals. She doesn't know the reasoning for this, nor if she finds it preferable to dining with a group so notorious, but now the apathy she has worn like a second skin the last few days sheds away to be replaced by an uncomfortable prickling of nerves. She knows Itachi is out on an assignment currently, and though he neglects to tell what that entails or where exactly he is, he's pretty decent about letting her know when he'll return for more of her "doctoring advice."

"O-Ok," Sakura responds to the high energy Akatsuki member, shutting her door behind her as she steps out to follow after him. Her escort is uncharacteristically quiet for their short jaunt to the dining hall and when he deposits her in front of a seated Deidara and Sasori, she feels the absence of him at her back as he must have turned and left.

"Sakura, yeah! Take a seat," Deidara gestures with a pair of chopsticks to the chair across from himself and his partner before returning to his steaming plate of curry with vigor.

Silently, her expression carefully neutral, Sakura does as instructed, staring back at the two facing opposite of her.

"Well, don't just sit there. Are you going to eat or not?" Sasori raises a speculative eyebrow before returning to his own bowl of soup, watchful eyes on Sakura's flustered response as she reaches for a clean plate and begins to serve herself.

For a short while, the only sound is the delicate _clink_ of utensils on porcelain as Sakura chews and swallows her food as silently as possible, faintly looking up through her lowered lashes to sneak glimpses of her company. Once again, Sasori's dinner doesn't seem capable of holding his interest as his fingers whisk across the screen of his tablet, eyes scanning blocks of text. On the other hand, Deidara helps himself to one dumpling after another from the communal platter; nothing can peel his attention away from his steaming plate of rice and meat. Sakura's chest heaves with a quiet, calming breath as she resumes eating, doing her best to affect an air of casualness.

"You seem uncomfortable."

Sakura's sharp, green eyes flick up to meet the smoldering gaze of the redhead. His odd, hyper-observance is once again revealed and her grip tightens around her chopsticks.

"How very keen of you to notice," she replies blandly, but the tightness around her eyes belies her nerves.

Of course he sees this.

Sasori's eyes narrow, an unkind smirk quirking his lips as he closes the cover on his reading and leans back into his chair. Deidara barely spares his partner little more than a bemused, sideways glance before snipping up another head of broccoli and popping it into his mouth, too content to comment on Sasori's unpleasant playfulness. Really, the poor girl looks a little too frazzled to be messing around with, but he hasn't had a decent meal in over twenty-four hours. The doctor will have to fend for herself.

"You have it pretty easy here don't you?" he asks, not bothering to wait for her response, "An all-expenses paid stay in the nicest place in Ame, round-the-clock security…" he pauses, eying the irritated young woman up and down, "I think it's time you earned your keep."

Deidara sighs, propping an elbow on the table as he regards his pretentious friend with a tired expression, "What the hell are you going on about now, yeah? Leave the poor girl alone, man," he ends on a yawn, eyes shutting with the strength of it.

Sasori shrugs, sniffing derisively, and the smile leaking into his expression has Sakura's hackles rising as alarm bells sound off in her head.

"It's out of my hands. Tobi has an off-site assignment and that leaves us in charge of keeping tabs on our _guest_," he answers patiently, his delight increasing as Sakura's face stiffens with her growing anxiety.

"But we have to leave here in, like," Deidara pauses, fumbling in his pocket for a moment before sliding out a phone, "Seven hours," he ends on a groan, his posture slumping as he slides down in his seat.

"Yes," Sasori affirms sharply, "Which is why I'm informing you now," he addresses Sakura directly, causing her back to straighten under his scrutiny, "Be ready to leave with us by eight."

"What?!" Deidara and Sakura exclaim in varying degrees of distress.

But the redhead looks off to the side, standing up as he tucks his tablet under his arm to leave, "Itachi isn't expected back for a few more days and we've been assigned babysitting duty. It'll be easier to keep an eye on her if she's with us, and we may as well get some use out of her."

Sakura doesn't like the way he ignores her, speaking as though she isn't even there or like her personal welfare isn't up for debate. Nor does she like the dangerous glint in the Akatsuki's eyes.

_What the hell? It's not like I'm about to make any escape attempts. I've been on my best behavior._

"Whatever, yeah," Deidara rakes a hand through his bangs, his lips pursing, "I feel like hell. Don't wake me up for at least the next six hours."

And with that the blond pushes back from the table to lumber off to his own suite, casting a half-asleep glance over his shoulder at the pink-haired girl still seated.

"I don't know what kind of clothes you packed for this adventure, but dress to the nines for this, Cherry," Deidara advises as he stretches his arms over his head before wandering out of sight.

Dumbstruck, Sakura still hasn't risen from her chair and Sasori glares impatiently at her, "Well? Have you forgotten how to walk? I haven't got all day."

With that less than mannerly hint, Sakura pushes in her chair and follows after her guide as he leads her to the elevators, and though it is a pointless exercise as she feels she has a decent grasp on the locations of the few rooms she's been permitted access to, she's certain this is more of a cautionary measure to ensure she doesn't go snooping behind closed doors.

_Though they're probably locked too._

It's completely unnecessary, but she's resigned to it.

"What exactly am I doing tonight? Where are we going?" Sakura asks, crossing her arms over her chest as their cabin glides smoothly up the elevator shaft, Sasori leisurely leaning against one of the mirrors.

"Nothing risky if that's what you're worried about," he baits her, all but calling her a chicken.

"You didn't answer the question."

"My, someone's feeling awfully brave," he taunts, "Though I am under no obligation to inform you of anything, I suppose there is no harm in letting you know this much," he begins as the doors pitch them out onto Sakura's floor, causing her to slow her angry footsteps to a snail's crawl to drag as much as she can from the unforthcoming man.

"Deidara and I will be making some observations of a certain club's clientele, mingling and gathering information for future business deals. Nothing more. However, it will help to have someone like you with us to blend in with the crowd."

He eyes her before jutting his chin toward her door, indicating that any further discussion is unwelcome.

_Fine._

Sakura nods in parting, closing the door swiftly behind her as she ponders over just what he meant by "someone like you."

* * *

Hours later, Sakura has her answer to that mundane puzzler.

_Damn that man._

Gritting her teeth, she fidgets awkwardly between her crowded position smooshed between Sasori and Deidara as they lounge in a large, semi-circular booth, a cloud of cigar smoke leaving a thin haze between them and the face of the man her co-conspirators have effortlessly ingratiated themselves upon. The banter is light, if not crass at times, and there's plenty of distractions from the less than mentally stimulating conversation, from the cocktails to the music to the three girls intermittently changing positions to be closest to the cigar-puffing man. Each of them are a giggling, twittering ball of floral perfume, pouted lips, and simpering dispositions as they flounce their blown-out hair and tug at the slipping tops of their dresses to better secure themselves.

Now Sakura understands her part in this and why Deidara told her to dress nicely.

She's there to make them look good, and she can just about bet she's the only female present doing it for free. As she casts a cursory look around the nightclub with all its shadowed nooks and crannies for hushed conversations and heavy caressings, her nose scrunches minutely at the unpleasant showiness of the collection of men and their flashy, much younger escorts sidled alongside them, leaning into them with a playful touch on the arm or a courteous offer of pouring another glass.

It's all a game. Both disgusting and intriguing in its tangled dance of attempting to one-up everyone present. The costly suits, the bottles of champagne ordered one after the other, the sequined, attentive girls, the cigars delicately selected from their gold plated cases…

It's all so immaculate and grotesquely expensive that Sakura wants little more than to sink back into the booth and out of existence as she fidgets with the cuffs of her gauzy dress shirt, feeling horribly underdressed. Sasori had made a face at her choice in costume for the evening, and Deidara had actually barged into her room to rummage through her closet for something with a little more suggestive appeal, but had quickly concluded that whoever had been put in charge of Sakura's shopping hadn't seen fit to obtain anything to his liking.

Sakura had scoffed at their judgmental fashion sense…until she walked into the upscale whiskey lounge and felt several sets of eyes size her up and dismiss her with little interest.

Her fingers twirl the short straw from her gin and tonic, now nothing more than water and a few chunks of ice lingering in the bottom of the glass. It's her second one for the night and she debates with herself over whether it would be wise to order another. Her conversation skills have yet to be called upon and she highly doubts they ever will be in this setting.

_Might as well get tanked. It's not like I'm buying._

One of the blondes sidled against the thickly side-burned man seated at their table casts Sakura a disapproving look as she clings to the arm of the man barely paying her any attention. Sakura feels Deidara's arm snake across her shoulders as she's pulled into his side, the side of her face pressed atop his shoulder as he leans down to whisper in her ear.

"Play along, yeah! Stop sitting there like a lump," his whiskey-tinted breath hisses in her ear and Sakura's face contorts with annoyance.

"What's the point?!" she fiercely whispers back, "I can't help you with this. I'm not dressed like them," her eyes shoot over to the trio of girls, one of them bouncing up to let another associate of Mr. Sideburns slide into the booth as she scoots in after him.

"Exactly. Don't draw more attention to yourself than you already are, yeah. Act the part even if you don't look it."

Something wickedly cunning enters Sakura's expression as her right hand rises from her lap, fingers alighting on the side of Deidara's face in a tickling flicker that dances until she's cupping the back of his neck. She can feel the shocked heat rising from Deidara's skin, both in surprise at her boldness and in appreciation of finally putting her feminine charms to good use.

That's when she strikes, with a deceiving, gentle smile gracing her glossed lips, her fingers snake through the short strands of hair at the nape of his neck, curling them around her hold and yanking downward in one harsh, though subtle tug.

"Anything for you, darling," Sakura purrs with satisfaction as Deidara's arm drops from her shoulders, hand grasping at the back of his head as he tries to cover his pain with a tight smile, teeth gritted with the promise of future payback.

"I'd be happy to get another round for us," she speaks up, loud enough for others in their group to hear and Deidara, forced to play along, slides forth from the booth, though Sakura isn't able to walk away completely free of any retribution. No, the Akatsuki decides to trail after her on her way to order more refreshments; Sasori barely spares the retreating couple an arched eyebrow as he resumes his discussion of high-end, black market weapons.

Reaching the bar first, Sakura leans into it, catching the bartender's attention with a small smile until she feels Deidara at her side. Her ghost of a good mood vanishes as a frown forms on her face and she drums her knuckles across the black, lacquered counter.

"I don't have a clue why you two buffoons brought me here," she remarks dryly, not bothering to meet his irritated gaze as she instead studies the top shelf bottles.

Deidara releases a hiss of air, propping his forearms along the bar as he leans forward, "Sorry if we thought you might enjoy getting out for a change instead of growing fat and lazy cooped up in your room."

Caught between indignation and surprised thanks, Sakura settles for a noncommittal grunt.

_Well, if that was their only intention…_

"Plus," he continues, turning around to take in the scenery of the club, giving him a better view of Sakura's downturned face, "It was cheaper to use you rather than hire some girls for the night, yeah. Kakuzu has already been bitching about the tab you're running," he shrugs carelessly, pointedly blind to the spark of anger that flares through Sakura at the mention of being cheap help.

_Bastards._

She's gone from being mistaken as a stripper to being used as a piece of arm candy.

_And here I thought Itachi wanted me for my medical skills._

Biting her lip, Sakura at last places her order and takes hold of the small, circular tray with the drinks that Deidara doesn't offer to relieve her of. Huffing back to the table, she brazenly pushes Sasori's glass of wine toward him, her unnecessary force threatening to spill its contents. Sasori's disapproving snarl does little to deter her as she moves to slide into her seat, but a tug on her arm prevents her from doing so.

"I think it's best you work with me before you end up pissing off our friend," Deidara jerks his head in the direction of their earlier company, his words mostly masked by the pulsing electronic beat as Sakura, indifferent to where she has to be while stuck with her two babysitters, snatches up her drink and follows Deidara's lead.

Guiding her to the smaller, adjoining room off the main bar, Sakura's eyes strain through the darkness with its dim lighting that just barely affords her eyes blurry flashes of people as their faces turn toward and away from the lights and rotating strobes. A DJ jams to his own beats in a corner with only a few patrons giving his music any notice as they sway loosely on the dance floor.

_Maybe it's darker in here to cover up the bad dancing?_

This crowd is certainly older (excluding the many women masquerading as their high profile client's date) and more refined in dress than those at the last bar Sakura had stumbled into with Itachi. A small group of the younger ladies are clustered together, dancing with each other with only a dismal few guys occasionally crashing into their midst to be fought over before he loses his patience, pride, confidence, or a mix of all three and retreats from the spotlight to return to his drink and cackling friends.

Deidara surveys the room's occupants with a critical eye though Sakura can only throw guesses as to what it is he's looking for. He turns to the pink-haired woman with her distant, far-away demeanor whose only interest seems to be with the half emptied drink in her hand as she sucks greedily at the straw.

"C'mon, yeah," he grins, a knowing glint in his sharp, azure eyes as he easily plucks the glass out of Sakura's loose hold and smacks it down on the nearest table, going completely unnoticed by the less than sober occupants milling about its covered surface strewn with ashtrays and cellphones.

"Wha – Hey! I wasn't finished with that!" Sakura complains as she's tugged forward by the hand into the middle of the dance floor, a few of the women turning their head to appreciate the blond passing by.

"I'm cutting you off for now, yeah," he replies good-naturedly, as he steers her to a point where all the rotating colored lights eventually converge during their spastic, automated motions.

"This is stupid," Sakura crosses her arms, looking up into the expectant face of the Akatsuki, "I'm not dancing."

"Afraid to make a fool of yourself, huh?" Deidara grins slyly, his smugness grating against Sakura's patience.

"As if," she huffs, looking away, self-consciousness staining her cheeks though, mercifully, the difficult lighting is likely covering it up for her.

Deidara hmphs, clearly unimpressed with her comeback as he spins her around, his chest bumping into her back as his hands wrap snugly around her upper arms to keep her from drifting away.

"Oh hell no," Sakura shoots back, half turning to look over her shoulder though she catches sight of little more than a curtain of cornsilk hair and the hard line of his jaw.

"Don't even think about grinding into my ass," she bites out, her voice barely carrying over the pulse of the speakers that she can practically _feel_ reverberating within her chest cavity.

"Relax, yeah," Deidara commands, not without a hint of irritation as he rests his chin on her other shoulder, causing Sakura to whip her head to the other side in surprise.

"Just let go…Feel the music."

Sakura is obstinate at first, barely willing to so much as tap her foot to the beat. And why should she? She didn't come here to dance or be Deidara's source of amusement. Maybe they genuinely did take pity on her boredom or maybe she really was just a cheaper means to an end, but Sakura certainly doesn't feel like she owes any of the Akatsuki anything.

_Well, maybe Itachi…_

But even that is up for debate.

But when Deidara's warm breath tickles the exposed skin of her throat again, something kicks Sakura's body into action as she decides to hell with it and obliges Deidara with every move she picked up from Ino during their clubbing days in college.

He melds with her, his arms occasionally releasing his hold on her only to return a moment later to tangle their hands together, lifting their arms up only to bring them back down and wrap her up once more. She doesn't know if they look good together, if their moves are coordinated, or if the lighting really reveals anything at all, but it feels right.

Of course, alcohol is a heck of a confidence boost.

One song bleeds into the next seamlessly, or perhaps there's no such thing as a beginning or an end with this type of music. Sakura really doesn't care as she tosses her head back, feeling the burn in her thigh muscles from such prolonged, energetic dancing as Deidara turns her to face him and she loosely links her hands around his neck.

Intoxicated from the drinks, the music, or maybe the criminal wound around her so intimately, Sakura confidently meets the eyes glued to her from across the room. The mixed lighting makes it difficult to discern his true features, but he's rather young compared to most of the men with their charcoal or navy suits and diamond studded cufflinks. Lithe, with what she thinks might just be white hair ending just before his shoulders, she catches his smile before he walks up to two of the girls on the dance floor, moving them off to the side to have a word with them.

"We have eyes on us," Sakura comments, wondering if this had been Deidara's intention from the start.

"Good, yeah," he smirks, his hands traveling down to her hips.

It's not five seconds later that the same two women have joined them, introducing themselves to Deidara though Sakura can barely hear more than a few syllables above the noise of the speakers. But her dance partner seems to as he nods, leading Sakura by the hand as he follows after the redhead girl in a teal micro mini dress with its plunging neckline and her staggeringly tall pumps. Already, Sakura can guess that they're headed to the front corner of the room where a small booth with the white-haired young man from before has taken a seat, his eye tracking the closing distance between them.

But her pursuit of the hip swaying redhead is jolted to a halt at an insistent tug on her free arm by the other woman, this one sporting particularly long, black hair tied off with a violet ribbon to match her evening ensemble.

A smirk plays at the woman's lips, something dangerous in her sharp, mascara-laden eyes, but in the next instant, the lights change, bathing everything in a calming purple and the woman answers Sakura's open-mouthed pause.

"Want to keep dancing? You're pretty good."

Sakura hesitates, looking back to Deidara for guidance (and mentally berating herself for seeking permission), but he puts a hand up and waves her off with a simple, "Fine by me, yeah."

Left to her own devices, Sakura turns back to the woman who is already leading her to the group of women still lightly shimmying on the dance floor. They part easily enough for the two women piercing their ranks and Sakura finds herself engulfed in a sea of gauzy fabrics and animal prints, not to mention the weapon-like footwear she keeps a wary eye on.

And she finds herself actually having fun, despite her circumstances and despite the fact she can't place a name to a single face floating around her as she twirls and sways. Maybe she really had been growing lazy in her confinement at the Akatsuki headquarters. For the first time since escaping home she feels rejuvenated and energetic, if not increasingly thirsty.

She signals to the dark-haired woman that she'll be back, but the woman follows after her as Sakura makes her way to the bar, passing by Deidara who's engaged in his own schmoozing with the white-haired man and another with spiky, black hair. She gives him a slight nod that she figures barely registers across his attention as the three men and the redhead with glasses burst into laughter over something Deidara says.

She supposes he's probably pleased with her not being such an unsocial, suspicious party pooper, so she decides it's only fitting that she treat herself…perhaps this time with something a little stronger.

As Sakura takes a swivel stool at the bar, she observes that Sasori has moved from his previous location though she can't find him in the crowd that seems to have grown in the last hour. Ordering a single malt whiskey on the rocks and ignoring the dubious look of the bartender for her choice, Sakura turns to the woman at her side, feeling chatty and surprisingly amicable.

"I'm sorry, but over all the music I didn't catch your name earlier…" Sakura begins.

"Kin," the woman supplies, offering nothing more as she sweeps a hand through a few loose strands of hair that have slipped from her ponytail.

Not to be deterred, she continues, "I'm Sakura."

"Sakura, hm?" the woman repeats as the bartender passes by to deposit her order, "You have an interesting friend with you tonight."

"You know him?" Sakura sips at her whiskey, focusing on the momentarily eye-opening burn as the liquor courses down her throat to sink heavily in her stomach with a comfortable weight.

Kin hums in affirmation, her eyes watching the reflections of the other patrons in the mirror behind the bar.

"Of course. My group is very familiar with him and his associates. Though," Kin glances at Sakura in the mirror, "I must say you're not anything like the usual girls they bring here."

Something sour settles on Sakura's tongue at the thought, "Yeah, well, I'll take that as a compliment," she says, raising her glass to herself and tilting her head back to down the last drops of mouth tingling flavor.

"That's right," Kin's tone turns wooden, "I suppose a doctor like you imagines herself somewhere above people like us. Isn't that right, Dr. Haruno?"

Dark, narrowed eyes slide across widened emerald, triumphant in catching the careless girl off guard.

"You know who I am?"

_Is this good? Is this bad? What is this?!_

"You're not the only one who's more than just a pretty face, Doctor. Unfortunately, you're going to wish that's all you ever were. Finished with your drink?" she asks innocently, throwing Sakura for a loop at the abrupt change in tone and subject.

"Wha – ?"

"Good," she says, inspecting the glass for herself before sliding gracefully from her seat, "Stand up."

The _swick _of a blade sliding free has Sakura's heart jumping up into her throat to find new lodgings. Stiffening, she glances down at the nastily curved blade hovering a mere three inches from her stomach with Kin angling her own body just so to conceal her hands from any curious eyes behind them.

Sakura slowly gets to her feet, eyes darting from the blade to Kin's stoic face.

_Where the hell is Sasori and Deidara?!_

But her babysitters are nowhere in sight.

"What are you doing?" Sakura asks, hating the slight quiver in her voice.

"Move," Kin commands, "To the door in the corner," she inclines her head toward the end of the bar where a closed door with a sign marked only for employee access will transport Sakura further away from any relative safety.

She moves to comply, but already her head is quickly growing foggy, her sense of balance waning as she focuses to bring down one foot in front of the other.

_What is this?_

Her hand reaches out for the door handle, missing once as her vision betrays her and she receives a warning brush from the tip of Kin's knife at the base of her spine. The pressure isn't enough to even rip her clothing, but it sends shivers down her back she can't hide.

_The drink, it had to have been that. The bartender must've – _

"Move it!" Kin barks as the door closes behind the two of them, separating them with gray walls that muffle the sounds of club goers just out of reach.

Sakura stumbles forward, her simple, black flats tapping lightly on the concrete floor as they travel past several swinging doors leading to the kitchens and employee restrooms, until the moist, chilly air of outside reaches Sakura's face and Kin pushes her toward the lone, nondescript car waiting near the dumpsters at the back of the building. With one hand fisted in Sakura's hair and the other still keeping the blade within an uncomfortable proximity to Sakura's back, Kin walks them over to the passenger side, raising a heeled foot to tap harshly on the door.

Several seconds later, the door is heaved open from the inside, just enough for Kin to catch it on her hip as she shoves Sakura into the front seat, quickly scrambling behind her to reach around with the blade now pressed to Sakura's suddenly dry throat.

"Sleeping on the job again, Jirobo?" Kin spits derisively as the driver turns the keys in the ignition. Through her double vision, Sakura squints to make out a large, pale man with three oddly styled tufts of orange hair.

Rigidly staring ahead as he shifts the car into drive, the man grunts, "What about the others?"

"Ugh, don't you ever listen?" Kin gripes, the knife pressing horrifyingly closer to Sakura's skin in the girl's frustration, "They'll stay behind as a distraction for those Akatsuki. Sakon and Ukon will collect them soon enough."

Without further remark the man drives on and Sakura watches with a sinking feeling in her stomach as the neon signs of the club disappear from her view in the car's side mirror. Fighting to stifle her trembling and the tempting pull of sleep, Sakura focuses on her breathing while her fingers slowly inch toward her front pocket.

If she can send off a text, even if it's just complete rubbish as she doubts her present company will allow her to just sit there and carefully compose the perfect message, perhaps the Akatsuki can track her location.

_It's worth a shot. _

Her fingers sightlessly trace the buttons as she prays this odd little chunk of plastic cooperates with her in such a dire situation. However, it's difficult to maneuver her fingers down into her pocket without drawing too much attention.

_Why do they not make functional, useful pockets on girls' pants?!_

Inwardly, Sakura screams her frustrations while outwardly her tongue pokes ever so slightly out from between her lips as she struggles to complete her task.

"What the hell are you squirming for?! Kin asks bitingly, the knife scratching under Sakura's chin.

She can feel the girl in the backseat leaning forward, pushing against the back of Sakura's headrest in an attempt to make out what her captive is up to.

"I don't think so, bitch," she hisses, a rough had striking out to claw the phone out of Sakura's grip.

Sakura's ears catch the mechanical whir of the back window sliding down, knowing her only means of communication is about to be pitched out into dark oblivion.

_And there it goes._

With the side of her head resting against the window in defeat, Sakura can do little more than coach herself into silence, restraining the whimpers and snivels threatening to break past her trembling lips.

She doesn't know how much time has passed by the time Kin pipes up, complaining that her wrist is cramping from holding the knife to Sakura's throat for so long. The driver sighs and it's the last thing Sakura hears through the cotton-like haze stuffing her head to capacity.

After that, it's only blissful unknowing.

* * *

When Sakura comes to she hasn't the strength to lift her eyelids. She barely has the conscious thought to even _try_. Instead, she relies on her ears for information, picking up on two separate voices drifting to her from a short distance away.

"You know he's obsessed with Itachi. And I heard from Kabuto that he threatened to leave so you know Orochimaru is going to do whatever he can to keep him happy," the female's whisper starts out low, but eventually climbs in volume as her footsteps echo off the tiled floor as she travels back and forth across the room.

"And now we have Itachi's personal healthcare professional…or whatever she is to him. But how can we even be sure Akatsuki is going to come for her? Much less Itachi himself? Surely she's replaceable."

"Who knows. I don't have high hopes with this one. She may not even know anything useful," the husky female voice replies carelessly, for the outcome surely has no direct consequence for her, "All I know for sure is that if he leaves I'm as good as gone too."

The man snorts, choking on his own laughter which forces him to clear his throat several times, "I think you overestimate your value to Sound."

"Why you – "

The dull clang of something heavy and metallic crashes into the floor or wall – Sakura is too disoriented to be certain – and the man's laughter resumes.

"All I can say is good riddance. He'll be a significant loss, but you, weeellll, not so much. Currently, I'd say Pinky over there potentially has more value than you at the moment."

"Get out, Suigetsu!" the woman roars, slamming a door closed and Sakura's eyes snap open as though her alarm clock has just gone off.

Her spine jerks to lift her back up, but she can't move and her head falls back uselessly as the restraints around her body go slack the slightest, most imperceptible bit.

"Where am I?" Sakura asks, her vision wobbly and constantly shifting as she tilts her head to the side in search of the other woman in the room.

Or at least those are the words she tries to form, yet it seems her tongue has turned to mush and her lips are cracked and dried. None of it is intelligible and the very thought of trying to speak up again seems to drain what little energy remains in her body.

In fact, she may just drift off to sleep…

"I have some questions for you," the woman speaks up, taking her time to reach Sakura's side. Peering up into the face of her kidnapper, Sakura manages to discern that this isn't the blade-happy Kin, but the redhead from before. Clinically dispassionate eyes gaze down at her from behind thick-framed glasses and Sakura can still see a flash of teal fabric underneath the lab coat that hasn't properly been buttoned up.

"But first I need you properly awake."

Picking up a small syringe of clear liquid from a rolling cart nearby, the redhead's heels tap menacingly closer as her disconcertingly gentle touch finds a vein in Sakura's neck to prick. Sakura can barely feel the needle's bite, but she quickly feels the effects of whatever she's just been injected with. Her eyesight brightens as though the lights have been turned up and she can successfully clench her fists into something threatening and powerful.

And she can scream, which she does.

Mildly irritated, the woman backhands Sakura, not excessively so, but with enough sting to shut her up for at least a moment.

"Enough of that. We're below ground in an old warehouse and the walls are heavily padded to dampen sound. No one is going to be looking for you here."

"Liar!" Sakura shrieks, thrashing against the thick belts holding her down to a table? A gurney? She doesn't know and it's a moot point anyway.

"I heard you," Sakura all but growls, "You want them to find me. You're after _Itachi_."

"Speaking of him," the woman pipes in, ignoring Sakura's bubbling anger, "Why are you traveling around with the Akatsuki? You're not one of them."

Sakura can't tell if she meant that as a question; it's posed so knowingly.

_I'm not telling her anything._

Loyalty burns within Sakura like a wildfire and she doesn't know what started it. But if she has to choose the lesser evil, she'll pick Itachi's side any day. She just has to trust that Deidara and Sasori will follow after her, possibly spreading the word to other Akatsuki.

_Please._

Sweat collects in the hair at her temples and the rows of lights overhead beat mercilessly down on her like a lab specimen about to be sliced open.

_Hurry._

"Why is Itachi Uchiha interested in you?"

Silence.

"Hey," she slams down her hand with its purple nail polish next to Sakura's head, "I asked a question."

Her voice is whiny, annoyed, and just for that reason alone Sakura has resolved not to give her what she wants.

_Self-entitled, little – _

"What are Akatsuki's current movements?"

Sakura closes her eyes, blatantly ignoring the woman in her face.

Is this what Itachi had felt like during her own interrogation of him back in Suna? Had she really thought she deserved anything from him? Had she been this ignorant to the mindset of someone trapped like an animal and completely without any illusion of control?

All it does is ignite within her an untamable determination to survive. To fight. To make her opponent suffer in whatever little way she can manage.

It'll still be a victory.

"Tell me. I have ways of getting all my answers out of you, but I'm being merciful and giving you a chance to save yourself from some pain. So what's it going to be?"

Sakura licks her dried lips, sucking the moisture from her tongue to accumulate a respectable amount of spit that she shoots into the crimson eyes of her tormenter. Saliva splatters across the left lens of her glasses and a few stray drops speckle her cheek.

Sakura smirks with satisfaction, allowing her head to drop back down and her shoulders to relax.

The girl inhales loudly, her breath practically a hiss as she turns her back on Sakura, wiping her glasses clean on her lab coat as she selects another syringe from the cart, this one containing a questionably electric blue concoction whose very foreignness has Sakura tugging against her restraints, her head thrashing back and forth, hair going in and out of her mouth as she cusses the woman out with an imaginative vocabulary mostly supplied by a drunken Naruto.

"I told you I have other ways," the woman replies smugly, feasting on Sakura's very tangible fear, "This will hurt, but I imagine you already know that."

The needle slides into the same spot as before and Sakura's throat immediately constricts with the sensation of unbearable heat pouring into the sensitive tissue lining her esophagus. It's as though someone's shoveling hot coals down her mouth and she can do little to prevent them from tumbling and falling into the rest of her body, along her ribcage and stomach, through her extremities, and to her scalp.

Her skin prickles with heat and Sakura is panting within minutes, her heart beating erratically and lungs working overtime to suck in air as if that could possibly help satiate the burning. She can practically feel her own blood searing with fire, half believing if she could manage to open her eyes against the obstructing tears, she'd find her body engulfed in flames.

_What the fuck is this?! This bitch is going to kill me!_

She can feel the weight of the woman settle against the side of the table she's strapped onto, likely getting a comfortable position to enjoy the show as Sakura bites down so fiercely on her bottom lip that she can feel a stray line of blood and saliva flow down the slope of her cheek.

Kicking her feet against the edge of the table, Sakura accomplishes little more than bruising her heels as her fingers claw at the leather restraining belts.

"Care to talk now?" the woman asks boredly, but Sakura knows she's enjoying this. She doesn't even seem to really care if she gets the information she's asking for or not.

Sakura grits her teeth, cracking open her eyes to slits that are irritated and red from suppressed crying, silently begging that some force will take true mercy on her and let her fall unconscious.

"Bite me…Bitch," she hisses with effort, turning her face away so the lights no longer burn into her retinas. She's doing enough burning as it is though she can't clearly think on what exactly this woman just used on her.

A poison of course, but beyond that? Her focus is diverted from academic queries as she squirms in discomfort while her calf muscles clench tightly in unbearable spasms that leave her groaning and knocking her head back into the metal slab beneath her.

"There's more where that came from," the woman's promising whisper puffs against Sakura's ear, forcing her eyes open at the very idea that it could get worse than _this_.

_I'll die._

Already her heart is working too fast; she can't afford another dose of whatever this lady has cooked up.

Her pupils shrink in terror as a second needle comes within sight.

"NO!" she shrieks, her hips straining to twist her body away from the torturous syringe, but the leather straps merely rub her skin raw as her shirt rides up in her distress.

But the woman merely clucks her tongue as she plunges the blue liquid into her veins again and the intensity is so incomparable to any other pain Sakura has ever experienced that she doesn't know if it's humanly possible to survive it. Her body may simply fail her.

The flames eating away at her bones surely must be turning them to ash. She's going to disintegrate from the inside out, just collapse in on herself in a pile of melted goo without its internal structure.

"Nnngghh!" Sakura bites down on her tongue as a piercing wail threatens to slip through clenched jaws.

_I…can't hold out…much longer._

What little her view has to offer of a cracked, eggshell white wall and tan tiled floor, gray fog is quickly seeping in around the edges, tunneling her vision. Still, her lungs heave for air, the very act of expanding and contracting her ribcage causing more pain. Her hammering heart gives a few offbeat thuds, slower and more uncertain.

The redhead woman taps her cheek and Sakura vaguely registers a small, circular light being flashed in her face as that deceptively twisted woman leans over her, a slight frown working at her features.

"Shit," she curses under her breath as she momentarily blinks out of Sakura's view.

The opening and closing of several desk drawers and the flurry of papers scattering to the floor can be dimly heard, but Sakura can almost tell herself the heat is retreating from her body in search of new sustenance. Her clothes cling uncomfortably as every pore on her body has been emptied of sweat. But her body's natural precautionary measures aren't enough to combat whatever crippling poison she's been struck with; she can't cool down and it's surely too late.

She's sleepy and breathing has just become too much work. Surely she can just slip away now…

_Itachi…You said you'd protect me. _

"Suigetsu! Get your ass over here and bring ice! Lots of it!" the frantic screeches of the woman fall upon deaf ears as Sakura's head falls limply to the side, eyes half open but unseeing.

* * *

_Hhmm. What is this?_

_Cold._

_Ice._

_I don't like this…_

She wonders if Shisui's pain was anything like this though a small part of her berates herself for even contemplating such a dismal train of thought. She knows the young Uchiha's plight was quite different from this; gagged and tied, he had been shot point blank through the back of his skull. At the very least, there could be some comfort taken from the fact that the boy didn't endure prolonged suffering. But the fear? That's another beast entirely.

And now Sakura is acquainted with that beast on a very uncomfortable level.

Maybe they'll chop her into little pieces too, all the easier to carry and dispose of her in some river or trash heap. Maybe they'll take pictures of the gruesome scene to prove to their boss that the deed is done and years later, some investigator will gaze upon the photos with an appropriate level of horror and sympathy for the young doctor's life that had been cut too short.

_Who am I kidding? I won't have someone like Itachi trying to avenge me. No one will ever find out about this. They'll just think I disappeared one day, leaving everything behind._

Just like Itachi.

Moaning, Sakura awakens in perhaps the most peculiar situation she has ever found herself in: a tub of ice water. She's submerged up to her chest, the ends of her hair dipping past the surface of the water and flowing around her with a darkened, cherry hue. Ice cubes are packed into the circular tub that she observes to be made of a thick, black plastic. The table she had been restrained to with its dangling straps is a short distance behind her and the floor around her is soaked with displaced water.

"Well, well, you made it after all," a voice draws her attention to the side of the room where the white-haired man from before regards her with inquisitive violet eyes, perched atop a metal stool

"That idiot Karin needs to be more realistic about her strengths and weaknesses. Playing the good cop in our little good cop/bad cop interrogation routine really isn't her forte," he pauses, flashing her a startling pointy-toothed smile, "Not that it's mine either."

Sakura struggles to rise, her entire body one giant ache and it doesn't help that she's completely numb. She can't even be certain her legs are actually moving beneath the icy water. She's one giant, abused raw nerve with a helpless coating of numbness.

"Ah, ah, ah," Suigetsu admonishes her, "You're staying put. Doctor's orders," he explains, walking up to the rim of Sakura's personal ice bath, "In fact, I think I may just have you stay in there until you feel like being more cooperative. More ice?" he asks with mock politeness, not waiting for a response before dumping the cup in his hand into Sakura's pool.

With dread she catches sight of several more bags of ice piled just inside the doorway. Worse still, she takes note of the gun prominently holstered at the man's waistband.

_Terrific._

Already her teeth are beginning to chatter. Sakura has never fared well in the cold, perhaps due to the nearly year around warm climate of Konoha making her so susceptible to such disparities in temperature.

Dragging his stool closer with a grating screech across the tiles, Suigetsu situates himself, clearly preparing for something Sakura won't like.

"I'd say you're a pretty frozen, pink popsicle by now, hm? So how about we cut to the chase and we can go our separate ways?" he suggests cordially, leaning toward her with his elbows resting on his knees.

It's clear now. They never intended for her to survive any of this. The burning injections from before were probably just meant to weaken her for this, to make her give in faster. They hadn't expected the woman to pry any secrets out of her; it's this man who's meant to be her executioner.

And he'll do it with a smile on his face and a friendly voice.

Maybe it helps him sleep easier at night, being so nice and polite about the whole ordeal rather than some screaming, bloodthirsty maniac. But she doesn't think that's the case, no, not with people like this. He gets off on it – on giving his victims just enough doubt over whether he truly means to harm them.

_Lie. Lie like Itachi._

"I don't kn-know anything. I'm just Akatsuki's p-prisoner," she stutters through pale lips.

She knows she needs to stall, but even her brain is chilled, her thoughts slow and forced.

"Ok, we're getting somewhere. Good," he crosses his arms, the fingers of one hand drumming against his muscled bicep, "But we can do better. Now I want you to try telling the truth. Where is Itachi Uchiha?"

"I don't know!" she winces at the tight, scratchiness of her throat.

"Look," Suigetsu says, leaving his seat to kneel down at eye level from across the pool, "Either you start giving me the answers I want or I'm going to have to start breaking things," the threat is heavy and has the desired effect, especially for someone like Sakura who has already set so many broken bones in her short career, "And I really hate making girls cry."

_Lie! Lie! Lie!_

"I'm telling you the truth!" she cries, splashing water over the lip of the tub, "I was kidnapped from my home. They took me somewhere in the middle of the night. I don't know where. I've been missing for five – six days?! I don't know!"

Any trace of a playful smile has vanished from the man's face as he's all business now and Sakura notes that he's lost the expensive suit in favor of more active, simple clothing.

"Why were you with those two guys from Akatsuki?"

_Could he have killed Deidara? And Sasori?_

After all, Deidara had last been with this man and the woman with glasses before Sakura had wandered away with Kin hot on her heels. Could they both be dead?

Sakura looks down, her reflection in the black water disrupted by a smattering of floating ice.

"I don't know. They made me go with them. They said they needed a girl for the night."

Suigetsu frowns, something like doubt flashing across his countenance.

_Maybe if I can get him to think I'm nothing more than some silly escort girl he'll...Kill me all the sooner._

She's dead no matter how she spins it.

_Think, Sakura, think!_

Looking up at the man frowning thoughtfully at her from his stool once more, Sakura puts as much indifferent calm into her voice as she can. She can't come off as too cunning, but being too desperate won't make her believable either.

"I don't know where he is now, but I know who Itachi Uchiha is after."

Suigetsu raises his eyebrows at this, his intrigue prompting Sakura to keep going.

"Danzo Shimura of Konoha."

Sakura's fingers clench at the very name, or at least they would if she had any muscle control over them right now.

_So cold._

All she can think of is winter and ice cream and sledding – the exact opposite of what she wants right now. She needs the beach and tanning oil and hot tea.

"And why – "

But Suigetsu is cut off by the sound of a low rumbling that shakes the entire room, sending dust from the ceiling to fall upon their heads and shoulders. He and Sakura turn their necks, looking every which way to detect the source, the interrogation forgotten in this brief moment of mutual confusion.

But static crackles from the walkie-talkie clipped to Suigetsu's pocket and a female voice – though it's too garbled to discern if it's Karin or Kin or someone else entirely – shouts orders over the channel to evacuate the building. The east side of the warehouse has been blown open by a bomb and everyone should head for the west or south exits.

Violet eyes land on Sakura's face and its amusing contortion caught between hope and disbelief. Suigetsu raises the walkie talkie to his mouth, "And what about the hostage?"

Sakura swears her heart stops for a second even though she knows better.

The sound of gunfire reaches their waiting ears as someone else keys in and a voice, this one unmistakably Karin's, replies, "Your call."

Sakura doesn't have words for her dismay, not a single articulated thought circulates through her head. All that's buzzing within her skull is undeniable terror that this is it because she may not know this man, but she can read the decision on his face. And when his fingers reach for his holster, she shuts her eyes, knowing it's all over.

When your very thoughts spell death, what do you do?

Sakura would've liked to think that she'd meet death with grace and respect after a happy marriage, a few kids, a memorable career, and some grandkids to help her recapture her youth in her golden years.

Instead, she gets this.

"Don't worry, it'll be quick," he assures her, not unkindly, but not kindly either. How can he pretend to be gentle when he's the one with the gun, the only say in the matter?

Sakura's breathing is rapid and out of control, her knees pulled up to her chest and her eyes screwed shut.

She hears a _bang_ and flinches, an absurd, inner voice telling her that was it, she's dead.

But she feels nothing as her ears tell her something is rushing toward her – footsteps.

The door has been shot off its hinges and Sasori, with disheveled hair and missing his necktie is storming in, eyes widening at Sakura's state as she struggles with little success to raise her body from the water.

_Why am I so weak?_

It'd be infuriating if she wasn't on the verge of shock, swarmed with relief at the Akatsuki's impeccable timing that a little, hysterical hiccup of laughter bubbles forth.

But Suigetsu isn't out of the picture as his gun clicks and Sasori dives toward Sakura, already aiming his gun for the younger man who crashes into the metal table, toppling it over as a bullet manages to graze his calf, sending a small spurt of blood across the floor.

"Move it, Haruno," Sasori orders, yanking on her arm, his eyebrows furrowing at the ice water trickling down her body as she struggles to climb over the edge of the tub. Suigetsu isn't moving from his position behind the overturned table, but she wouldn't count on him being down for the count.

With clothes weighing down her petite frame and her legs as heavy and rigid as cement blocks as they tingle uncomfortably as her blood circulates, Sakura trudges awkwardly for the door, Sasori at her back as he fires into the room to cover their exit.

In the hallway he grips her elbow and jerks her to the left, forcing her to keep up though she can tell he's frustrated by her pace as he grits his teeth, insisting that she doesn't stop. When they reach a stairwell at the otherwise dead end, Sakura can feel her strength slipping away at the very idea of climbing more than a few feet. It's ridiculous how very limited her movements are; her arm not clutched in Sasori's tight hold dangles uselessly at her side as her blood fights to flow in the frozen limb.

_You can do this._

By the time she's mounted the seventh step, they hear a commotion coming down the hall, a herd of heavy-booted feet rushing to catch them.

"Go!" Sasori looks up at her hesitant pause, eyes fierce as he snarls, "Go and don't stop for anything! Make an immediate right and then a left."

Gulping and frantically nodding her head in understanding, Sakura's feet tromp heavily on the concrete steps, worn smooth at their edges from so many feet before hers. Clumsily, she uses the rail to hoist herself along until she reaches a landing with three different passages to take. The main floor of the warehouse must me partitioned into different sectors though she can't spare the time to think on it for long as she darts to the right, her own legs her greatest obstacle to overcome. Distantly, she hears several voices shouting and a flurry of bullets pelting into something that leaves her ears ringing. Smoke is wafting her way from above, not quite thick enough to be a problem. Yet.

Sakura's flat-soled shoes nearly slip on the puddles she's creating for herself, but her feet scramble for purchase just as she reaches a short wall of partitions leading to the left.

Gasping with relief, tears prickling at her eyes as she forces herself to plow forward, Sakura slams all of her weight against the thick metal door of the exit, feeling the resistance in its hinges to let her pass.

But slowly it opens for her, revealing pavement and gravel, a series of similar warehouses in various states of abandonment and chain link fences with barbed wire spiraled along their top edge.

She doesn't know where to go from here, Sasori hadn't said. Already, a steady flame is blazing along what must be the east side where the Akatsuki forced their way in.

_Please let them make it out._

Limping, Sakura turns her head left and right and decides to move left, thinking she can just make out a true road in the distant lamp light.

"Hold it!" a voice shouts, just seconds before the gravel and dust sprays up around Sakura's feet, causing her to shriek before she scatters, running along the side of the fence. Her arms weigh uselessly at her sides, refusing to pump and help propel her momentum. Two more shots are fired, but Sakura dares not turn back to look. She doesn't want to see death's kiss as it comes for her.

_Just keep going!_

Panting relentlessly, her feet carry her across the loose gravel, the man pursuing her now silent save for the slap of his feet against the ground as he closes in on her.

Sakura can't help the scream that flies free as she feels two arms encircle her, lifting her feet clear off the ground as she kicks and twists to break free.

"No! No no no no no no," Sakura sobs. It's so very unfair how close she came to escape. But this bastard just couldn't give up, he couldn't just –

Stop repeating her name. In soothing and hushed tones, his lips whisper against the crown of her head, calling her name and at last Sakura's brain registers the voice as her arms fall to her sides, all struggles coming to an end.

"Itachi?"

Her voice is little more than an airy whisper, so unwilling is she to give into any source of false hope or comfort only to be tricked.

His arms fall away from the girl no longer intending to flee, allowing her to slowly turn around to make out his pale face and long, dark hair, his expression filled with unmasked relief.

Sakura can feel her body quivering, her hands knocking into her thighs in uncontrollable, jerky movements. Itachi's eyes show concern as he lifts a hand out as if to steady her, but Sakura doesn't give him the chance. She collapses forward, falling into his surprised arms as her own circle around his back to bring him closer.

"Thank you," she whispers, unsure if his ears can even catch her mumbled thanks with the way her face is pressed into his chest, seeking refuge from the rest of the world.

She tilts her head back to be heard clearly, her nose sniffling a few times to compose herself, "I didn't know it was you chasing me. Someone was shooting at me and…"

Itachi's head turns away and, over his shoulder, Sakura can make out the form of someone collapsed on the gravel road behind them. Still. Dead.

Quickly, she looks away, eyes meeting Itachi's once more as they are thrown into the yellow glow of a vehicle's headlights. Up ahead a door slams open as Deidara followed by a coughing Sasori make it out into the deserted parking area. Their heads turn simultaneously in the direction of Sakura and Itachi with Deidara's bright grin visible even at such a distance.

Itachi scoops Sakura up into his arms, heading for the back doors of the dark SUV and helping her into her seat before surprisingly moving in beside her. Seconds later, Deidara, dusty and bleeding, hauls himself into the seat on Sakura's other side and Sasori claims the front passenger seat.

"Well, what a fine bunch you lot are," Kisame growls in high spirits from behind the wheel before flooring the gas and steering away from the flames catching onto the rest of the warehouse behind them.

Sakura can't comment, the hazy voices of Deidara and Sasori floating in and out of her awareness as they rehash their story. Itachi declines to speak, content to let the girl nestled into his side get her much needed rest.

* * *

**Author's Note: ****Well, this was another large chapter. I felt like I owed it to you guys since this could very well be the last update until about September; I honestly just can't be too sure due to my summer travels. I had entertained the idea of leaving it off around the point Kin kidnaps Sakura, but figured that might just be too cruel of a cliffhanger. Plus, I got to add in a little bit of an ItaSaku moment, right? **

**And look at that conniving Deidara and Sasori using Sakura for their assignment. Tsk tsk. Maybe they just wanted to have some fun with her, maybe they were intentionally trying to bait the Sound gang. Who knows? The club as well as the warehouse is still within Ame, but the Sound apparently took up residence in one of the abandoned buildings to carry out their own nefarious activities and do a little spying. But we did get to hear some mention of Sasuke in this, no? Granted, his name was never specifically stated…**

**Anyway, there are a couple more things needing to be revealed concerning Shisui's murder and I honestly can't say how many more chapters this story will have, but I hope you enjoyed this. **

**Reviews are adored. Thanks for reading!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer:**** Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto.**

**Rated M:**** Due to coarse language, violence, and some adult themes.**

* * *

Numb. Everywhere and everything. But it isn't the kind of soothing numbness that Sakura employs to subdue the swelling in her patients with the aid of a little ice and a few reassuring words. This numbness is painful, practically vibrating her entire body with its crawling discomfort. Her limbs tingle with cringe-worthy protest should she dare attempt to unfold them away from her body. With her arms enfolding her torso like broken wings, she leans heavily into the side of the man who rescued her. His T-shirt and jacket are now damp underneath her stringy, dripping hair and soaked shirt, but if it bothers him, he doesn't comment. Kisame had already turned the heater on after a worried, quick look into the back seat at the silent, young doctor and none of the Akatsuki raise complaint despite the stifling air circulating throughout the SUV.

"This entire situation was foolish and completely unnecessary. You endangered an innocent life."

Itachi's steady, unwavering voice is without a modicum of emotion, but the words are weighted with reprimand. If she wasn't already shivering violently enough to make her teeth chatter, Sakura would surely have a chill running down her back at the icy vibes emanating from the Uchiha.

Sasori scoffs from the front seat, but doesn't deign to speak. His younger partner, however, is not yet wise enough to know when to hold his tongue. Picking his battles was never Deidara's strongpoint. And when it comes to Itachi Uchiha, every interaction is a battle.

"It's not as though we planned for this to happen, yeah," he bites out defensively, "And as it turned out, we were able to smoke out a bunch of Sound rats. I call that a win."

"I call that scraping by on the skin of your teeth and a lot of dumb luck. Things could've gone much worse," Itachi's tone remains passive and bland, yet antagonistic because of that persistent quality. It reminds Sakura of the time she spent interviewing him down in the basement of Suna's prison – practically a lifetime ago it seems.

Deidara sneers in contempt, but with a sharp glare from Sasori, huffs and faces away to look out the window at the passing street lights. Sakura presses her head closer still into Itachi's shoulder. Her eyelids are growing heavier by the second, but the bumpy road prompts her awake from time to time to prevent any true slumber.

She doesn't have the energy to speak (whether to condemn or forgive the Akatsuki for her current state, she can't decide) and her clattering teeth are nearly impossible to speak around anyway.

"What did they do to you, Sakura?" Sasori's tone is careful to conceal his impatience for an answer, to remain uncaring and aloof, but there is an unmistakable tightness to his words as though they're formed around gritted teeth.

_Damn it._

Sakura groans inwardly, shifting against Itachi's side as she winces in preparation to force actual syllables past her pale lips. Sasori has long since ceased coughing, the smoke now free from his lungs, and he pierces Sakura with his trademark lazy, yet deceptively analytic stare as he half turns in his seat to regard the passengers in the back.

_They injected liquid fire in my veins and dunked me in ice. They wanted to kill me. For no good reason. I could've died. I should be dead right now. If I was dead – my parents! The hospital! _

Her thoughts race out of control as the reality of her situation finally crashes down around her shoulders like a weighted blanket. Everything in her body screams at her to run, to move, to just do _something_, but she's immobilized by the images replaying in her mind. From the cold gleam of light reflecting off Karin's glasses as she slid a needle into her skin with practiced grace, or the way Suigetsu smiled at her so kindly while he reached for his gun. She barely registers the touch of Itachi's long fingers wrapping themselves gently around her wrist as she begins to shake with something other than cold.

"Now is not the time for questions," he answers for her.

Sakura's stiff posture melts ever so slightly with relief as her frantic thoughts slow to a dull hum in the back of her head, her adrenaline spiking and dropping too fast to keep track of. Another layer of bone-weary exhaustion is added to her tired, huddled form.

_Thank you._

Her yawn is impaired by her shaking jaws and her sluggish tongue is nearly clipped between pearly teeth as she silently turns her head toward the unbreakable wall at her side. She knows her mind isn't in the right place right now, that in the light of day she will look back on this moment with a grimace for meekly seeking such comfort from a man like Itachi. But right now is not that moment; right now, she can indulge herself this one thing of comforting human contact after the ordeal she just lived through.

_Just for a moment more…_

Except it lasts more than a moment as the tires propel them over the wet crunch of gravel and, finally, the smooth, newly paved roads leading into the heart of Ame. But Sakura does not glimpse the light drizzle outside the windows as Deidara does, nor does she avert her gaze from the glaring neon signs outside the nearby bars with their many patrons ignoring the inclement weather in favor of a smoke break like Itachi does as he instead opts to glance down at his ward. As Kisame reduces his speed and Sasori stares unseeingly into the night, Sakura dozes restlessly, half-formed images of her torture replaying themselves across her vision like a poorly spliced film reel. Her breathing turns rapid, her head jerking with a start, and still, Itachi's hand holds firmly to her own, grounding her in the present, encouraging her to recognize her safety in his presence.

_He killed for me._

She's not sure why it's just dawning on her as their vehicle makes a U-turn to pull up alongside the curb in front of the Akatsuki headquarters. But it's true. And while Sakura knows she should feel appalled by it, she recognizes with a twinge of guilt that she can't summon any disgust for Itachi. Only thankfulness for saving her life.

And _that_ makes Sakura sick.

_ Self-preservation. How cowardly it makes us all._

The lights flick on in the cab of the SUV as the men on either side of her begin to climb out the doors with Sakura following after Itachi like a weak-limbed kitten. Her joints ache and though her stomach is empty of food, she can't deny the urge to wretch. Her nerves are tingling through her arms and hands, all the way to her fingertips, but her legs are still useless blocks of ice, unwilling to obey her commands.

Ignoring for the moment the guilt plaguing her conscience and the wavering little voice nudging at her thoughts that Itachi had killed for her after condemning that very act – he had said never to kill, only to sacrifice – she allows Itachi to pull her toward him and scoop her from out of the SUV. She doesn't offer a word of thanks, knowing Itachi doesn't need to hear it, but she gives him a slight nod, not making eye contact as he lifts her away to her suite in a blur of elevators and print scans. She's not even aware that the other Akatsuki have trailed after them like a parade of loyal dogs until Itachi orders them out to fetch a heated blanket and warm food. With the door shut behind their departure, Itachi's fingers deftly find the light switch and Sakura's pupils contract against the harsh brightness in distaste as she's transported into the bathroom and deposited atop the cool granite surface of the vanity. Uncomprehendingly, she listens to the waterfall-like thunder of the faucet spilling into the plugged up tub and watches as Itachi swirls a hand through the water, testing its temperature.

Dumbly, she blinks back at the dark-eyed man as he shuts off the water and turns expectantly toward the young doctor who shows no indication of preparing to move.

"Come warm up, Sakura. We need to get your core temperature back up," Itachi explains patiently while simultaneously moving to pick her up and complete the task himself.

Getting back into a tub of water isn't something on Sakura's to-do list – and won't be for a long time. Irritatingly enough, the voice of reason in her head pipes up that he's right, but the petulant side of Sakura, the battered, scared part of her, flinches away from the arms that enfold her once more to bring her into the deceptively innocent, placid water.

She insists on standing up herself, but doesn't completely shrug off Itachi's resolve to assist her as she uses him as a sort of leaning post and crutch to help her shuffle over to the lip of the tub, sitting down on the ledge, and then stiffly sinking down into the tub, clothes and all. The relief isn't immediate as her skin is stimulated by a new temperature that Sakura's brain can't properly process just yet. But as she maneuvers her body to allow her legs to stretch out with the length of the tub, allowing her back to rest against the porcelain side, Sakura slowly begins to feel the tingling numbness first spike and then gradually decrease to near nothingness in the warm water lapping up against her collar bone. She closes her eyes as Itachi exits for a few moments, allowing her mind to become a nearly blank slate with the hum of the bathroom fan serving as the only background noise. She splashes violently, an elbow slamming painfully into the inside of the tub as Itachi silently drifts back in with an armload of fresh, dry clothes. Wincing with the remnants of her ungraceful, painful blunder, Sakura heaves herself out of the bath with much effort, concentrating intently as she takes one step and then the other over the edge of the tub without tripping. Shutting the door completely, she turns her attention to the unfavorable task of peeling off her soaked clothing, her fingers struggling for manageable purchase over the clinging fabric that bleeds water with every twist and pull.

At last managing to free herself of their tight, uncomfortable embrace, she kicks them into a corner with one foot before quickly padding over to the towel rack to wrap her goose-skinned body in a plush towel, hunkering down on her haunches as she mentally prepares herself for the task of redressing. She can hear rustling outside her bathroom, a few whispers too low to decipher before the soft close of her suite door pricks at her ears.

Returning her attention back to what she should be doing, Sakura reaches a hand out to touch the fabric of the clothes Itachi must have pulled from her dresser. Too tired to blush at his nonchalance at selecting her undergarments, Sakura inhales deeply before taking the plunge and dropping her towel without ceremony, rapidly pawing at her clothes to pull the protective, warm layers of cloth over her still chilled body.

_ At least the numbness is gone._

It's progress at least.

Ignoring her reflection, not wanting to meet her own haunted gaze, Sakura schools her expression as best she can, feeling the last dregs of her energy quickly draining away to nothingness as she opens the bathroom door and walks out to the scene of Itachi turning down the covers of her bed, a heated blanket already plugged in and ready to enfold her. A steaming bowl of soup and some crackers rest on the nightstand along with what she suspects is tea, and Sakura feels another twinge of guilt at her desire to ignore Itachi's well-intentioned efforts and just fall face down in her bed. With mercifully socked feet, she trudges to the bed, climbing up onto the high mattress and settling down her aching, worn body with a light grunt of effort. The low lighting already has her eyelids fluttering closed, but Itachi is approaching her, prompting some flicker of alertness to cause her to shift her position, if only marginally, in an effort to appear awake.

"Do not strain yourself to eat if you do not want to," he says gently, wrapping an edge of the heated blanket around Sakura's feet, encasing them fully in fuzzy warmth. Sakura nods tiredly, appreciative of his understanding, and allows her head to drop back on the pillows. Fetching an obscenely late dinner was probably just a means of keeping his fellow Akatsuki members busy and out of the way while she recovered in the tub. Through the tiniest crack between her entangled lashes, she notes Itachi's figure linger near the bed before he turns to go, an arm reaching out to click off the light on the nightstand.

Pale fingers.

Long and reaching.

Reaching for her.

To kill her.

"Wait!" Sakura gasps, struggling against the confinement of her warm cocoon, propping herself up on her elbows as she shakes off the shadows waiting to consume her mind with the first taste of sleep.

The next instant she cringes at her own childish reaction, eyes downcast as she can't manage to face the stoic Uchiha. Suigetsu, Karin, Kin…They're all far away, unable to harm her while she's in the safeguard of the Akatsuki's den.

But still…

Stubbornly refusing to meet his gaze, Sakura turns her head to the side as though suddenly interested in the drapery concealing the window and the outside world beyond it.

In a small voice heated with embarrassment, Sakura asks, "Can you – Can you stay with me?"

It's little more than a squeak.

Flustered at Itachi's lack of a quick response or any type of reaction to having heard her request for that matter, Sakura blunders on hurriedly, "Just for a little while. I just – I can't fall asleep after – I just need – I…" her voice dies off, her words uncertain as Sakura's own thoughts are a jumbled mess of just what exactly it is she needs. Unable to articulate her fears, Sakura falls into awkward silence, her mortification momentarily outweighing her exhaustion as her feet shift nervously under the covers.

But at last Itachi's frozen expression thaws, a marked lessening in the tension around his brows and in the corners of his mouth.

"If that is what you wish," he replies simply, easily, as though being requested to stay behind as a security blanket until a victim of a near death experience falls asleep is within the norm of his day-to-day activities.

Sakura is momentarily stunned by his easy acceptance of her juvenile request, but even more so by Itachi's next action. Figuring he'd simply opt for the chair at the small round table in the corner of the room near the window, or at most for him to perhaps perch on the end of the bed and watch TV, she's taken aback as he glides around the end of the bed, seating himself on the opposite side to remove his shoes with a few quick tugs of his nimble fingers to loosen the shoestrings before lifting his legs up and reclining back on the bed, fully laid out with his arms tucked underneath his head.

Bug-eyed, Sakura forces herself to blink before quickly settling down herself, doing her best to pretend this situation didn't just get a whole lot weirder.

Really, she should have known. Itachi Uchiha does not bother himself with late night TV.

Shifting hesitantly, now afraid that she'll be disturbing _him_, Sakura turns on her side to face away from the tranquil expression resting on Itachi's face, his eyes closed.

Or seemingly closed.

Sakura has her suspicions.

But after less than a minute, she comes to the annoying conclusion that she won't be able to drift off to sleep on her side. Rolling her eyes, she shifts to her back and stares up at the rough textured ceiling, ignoring the dim, yellow glow of the table lamp.

For a moment, her thoughts spin wildly away and out of her control from the petrified, helpless sensation of being kidnapped and transported away in the dusky evening without anyone on the road being any the wiser, to the very real terror, the very real promise of an end to her mortality as Suigetsu vowed a swift, merciful death by his own hand.

Restlessness simmers in her legs, the desire to kick out and banish the heart-hammering thoughts is nearly irrepressible, but she forces deep breaths through her nose and shaky exhales through her mouth, conscious of the man beside her who is most certainly listening to every little sound she makes.

_Calm. Think calm._

She knows she's in shock, can feel her brain practically swimming untethered round and round her skull. It's for the best that Itachi didn't press her to spoon down any of that soup. Her body can't process food right now.

She allows her head to fall to the side, eyes settling on Itachi's long lashes casting shadows against the high planes of his cheeks. Whatever it is, his serenity, his proximity, or some break in her own sanity, Sakura manages to find peace in the sight.

_He saved me._

And it's with that thought, not quite happy, but not quite unhappy, that Sakura drifts off to sleep.

* * *

The lighting lends a sepia-like quality to her surroundings as Sakura opens her eyes to the wooden planks, unpainted and unsanded, that make up the wall at her back and off to one side. The rest of the space is large and relatively empty with naked pipes running along the ceiling and off into the distance toward windows far and high away on the opposite side of the building. Weak light filters through the few broken panes of glass, highlighting the dust dancing in the air.

She doesn't know why, but she feels with absolute certainty that someone is watching her in the dim shadows of the warehouse – whether they're crouched behind that pile of empty cardboard boxes or hidden in the darkened corner beyond that broken down conveyor belt, she can't say.

But she'd stake her life on it. Someone is watching her.

Deciding she's too cowardly to wait around and find out just who exactly it is, Sakura struggles to her feet…Or at least tries to. On her knees with her heels tucked under her butt, cords restrict her just above the knees, bounding her thighs together while another rope coils around her shins in several knots.

_Shit._

And that's when she registers that she hasn't truly taken stock of herself yet, that she has somehow completely ignored the way her wrists are cuffed together behind her back with some type of small, biting plastic – _zip ties_.

Holding back a whimper of panic, Sakura's eyes scan the warehouse, suspicious of how her eyes have so rapidly adjusted to the lighting. She can see more of the warehouse despite there being little more to see. Frowning now, she feels the slight, barely there sensation of fabric pulling across her cheeks and mouth.

_I bet it's loose enough that I could scream._

But she doesn't want to attract any attention to herself. Someone is still out there, but maybe if she's silent, maybe if she pretends like the other person isn't there, he'll lose interest in her and they can keep their respective distance from one another.

The lights are turning on. Slowly, with electricity pulsing through a tired, fraying system, the lamps high overhead are stirring to life at a leisurely pace. Sakura knows they're the kind that she should probably hear humming with a kind of lethargic reluctance as the brightness reaches its full opulence, but she can't hear a thing other than the rustle of her arms fighting uselessly against the plastic cuffs and her own breathing.

It doesn't seem real – the lack of sound, the eerie lighting, how she can't really feel the cramped pain in her legs yet she knows she's tired and defeated– yet enough details are registering to kick her brain into gear and accept that this is happening and she needs to take it seriously.

And that's when he appears.

Suigetsu, smile absent and now decidedly grim-faced, steps forward from where she was certain only seconds ago there was nothing to hide behind and no deep shadows to rise from. Nevertheless, he slinks into sight, not uttering a word, not wavering in his gaze that serves as a magnet to draw Sakura's own desperate, woeful eyes.

Biting her lip, Sakura musters an ounce of courage to make an appearance as her voice, though decidedly weak, manages to ask, "What do you want?"

The strip of cloth tied around her face loosens enough to slip down her chin and rest against her neck.

And though she took him to be a talker, maybe even the type to boast, Suigetsu doesn't answer as his eyes absorb the image of his captive who can do little more than wriggle in place as he circles around her.

The mechanical whir and click of a small handheld device has Sakura flinching in place as Suigetsu circles around her once more, first capturing her in profile and then straight on as he lowers himself down on his haunches.

The flash goes off right in Sakura's face and she nearly growls, though whether annoyance or fear predominates in her is anyone's guess.

"What do you want?" she asks again, her voice stronger in volume this time.

But the man only rises fluidly to his full height, pocketing the camera in a small pouch on the side of his utility belt in favor of removing something else – something a lot more threatening.

Sakura's jaw clenches and suddenly it's as though time has either slowed down or stopped altogether to gift her this one clear moment of insight, to bestow her with the knowledge that she is about to die.

And something painfully familiar fills her, as if she knew this was going to happen all along but was merely in a childish state of denial. The sense that this has all happened before is overwhelming as she watches Suigetsu's fingers draw the gun from his holster. He doesn't even blink.

The memory of a boy, a teenager with black hair and upturned eyes that always gave him a playful demeanor, flicks through her thoughts. But beyond that, she can't really recall the details. Is he still alive? Has this man already killed him? And what was his name?

"Please," Sakura's mouth is speaking before she's even conscious that she's given it the order to do so, "This isn't necessary. You don't have to kill me."

She's just buying time; she has to remember that boy's name. If she does, maybe she can save him. But the man doesn't respond. Still as a statue with his weapon-heavy hand dangling loosely at his side, he merely stares back at Sakura with the most blank-faced expression she has ever seen on a human face.

_Shisui._

Sakura's mind lights up with remembrance, causing her to shift forward, unwantedly closer to her executioner.

The man lifts his gun with a single hand and relaxed stance.

_His name was Shisui…And he's already dead._

An ear-shattering _pop_ goes off.

And she is dead as well.

* * *

"Sakura….Sakura…_Sakura_."

The hush of the ocean sounds close in her ears…it tickles too. And that is when Sakura's eyes blink open in awareness to the warm, soft glow of her bedside lamp, having never been turned off, and the warm skin of Itachi's lips brushing softly against the shell of her ear.

She's been sobbing in her sleep. Her eyes are tired and hot with tears, her cheeks sticky from their tracks, and that is the condition she finds herself in as she wakes up to a concerned Itachi doing his best to console her and bring her mind back down to reality.

At some point in her nightmare, she had turned toward him, shifting onto her other side and he had done the same. Noticing her eyes are now wide and hyper-aware, Itachi leans his face back from her startled expression, but the comforting weight of his hand on her side isn't removed.

"I – " she's forced to clear her throat of its uncomfortable, impeditive lump, "I'm sorry."

Itachi exhales through his nose, and it's perhaps the first sign of his sense of humor she's witnessed since being wrangled into the Akatsuki's protection.

"You do not have any need to apologize for anything, Sakura," he replies quietly.

Sakura sniffles a few times in an effort to clear her airways and rubs the heels of her palms at her eyes with mild irritation at having been caught crying in her sleep.

_I'm still the same silly, little Sakura._

But her body won't let her dwell on it for long as exhaustion soon pulls her back down into her pillow and tangled nest of blankets. And she chalks it up to fatigue for why she can't seem to summon the tiniest bit of energy to move her tongue into telling Itachi he can remove his hand from her person.

She rather likes the small, soothing circles he's tracing against her side anyway.

For the rest of the night, Sakura is free of gun-wielding apparitions and hostage situations; her mind remains peacefully blank. And though she rests lightly, nearly gaining consciousness a time or two, she can't help but relax into the warmth circling her waist and the steady beat of life pulsing beneath her ear.

* * *

Though the light-canceling curtains mercifully block out the currently unwanted sight of day, the digital clock is unwilling to lie to Sakura's single, opened eye. She's not accustomed to sleeping in any more after taking up residency at the hospital and the extra hours are starting to feel like they're doing her body more harm than good.

_I've become way too used to running on way too little._

It's a dangerous game to be playing, to burn the candle from both ends, but Sakura has always been proud of her endurance in the medical field.

Shifting her face away from its cushion to better breathe, Sakura's eyes snap open in alarm, her hands coming up between her and the body she's been half lounging on.

Itachi stares back at her, something like amusement trickling into his features, but he's much too refined to openly laugh at Sakura's reaction.

"I-Itachi! Good morning! I didn't think you'd still be here. I, uh…sorry about sleeping on you," Sakura grimaces, running a hand through the back of her hair, then freezing at the realization that she probably looks like a complete wreck after last night and her sob fest.

Internally groaning at her misfortunes, she scoots away a respectable distance back to her side of the bed, trying not to appear too self-conscious as she runs her fingers through her hair.

"You asked me to stay, so I did," Itachi shrugs, as if it's as simple as that, "In truth, I'm feeling rather well-rested. I think sleeping in has done us both some good."

_Well, aren't you awfully chipper when you first wake up?_

She hadn't been expecting so many words to come from the Uchiha upon first waking.

Sakura's eyes wander aimlessly around the room, recalling the events of last night, until her gaze lands on the cold soup left untouched on her nightstand.

"Hhmm, guess I let this go to waste," Sakura frowns, speaking mostly to herself.

"I'll go down to the kitchens to request a late breakfast," Itachi offers, already working to put on his shoes. When he stands, Sakura can't help the thread of envy that laces through her as she takes in the Uchiha's appearance. He doesn't look the least bit rumpled from a long night's sleep.

Sighing inwardly, Sakura follows suit, getting to her feet and making her way to the bathroom as her teeth are in dire need of a good brushing.

With the faucet running and toothbrush in mouth, Sakura barely has time to look up as Itachi passes by in his departure, her cold tray of dinner in hand.

"Come down when you're ready. We need to discuss last night."

Alarmed, Sakura spits into the sink, a few minty droplets spraying across the face of the mirror in her haste. But the door has already closed behind Itachi as details from last night replay in Sakura's mind. From the way he gently woke her from her nightmare to the several times she partially woke up in the middle of the night to find her face pressed into his chest, her arm draped across his ribcage.

_And he – I felt his arm around me. Felt him tightening his hold when I shifted._

But in the next instant, with a much needed mental slap, she reminds herself that something a bit more significant and weighty occurred last night. Itachi will want to hear her account of what happened at the club, how she was abducted, and more importantly, what exactly they did to her to leave her in such bad shape.

Already she feels drained just thinking about it. She doesn't want to relive it again; she wants to bury the memory into oblivion.

* * *

When she emerges in the dining hall (after getting briefly turned around when the elevator opened on one floor too soon, not that she'll ever admit it), Sakura is greeted with the sight of her acquainted Akatsuki assembled around one of the dining tables. Though she notes the buffet-style cart is closed and cleaned of food, a setting has been placed for her across from Itachi and she tucks into a bowl of oatmeal and a grapefruit half loaded with a generous scoop of sugar. Aside from herself, Itachi appears to be the only one taking breakfast this late in the morning though he's taking his time picking at his fruit while speaking in hushed tones with Kisame. Sasori's eyes have yet to lift from the dimly glowing screen of his tablet and Deidara appears to be doodling in a small notepad. And then there's Tobi sitting on Sakura's left whose thumbs are busily smashing the buttons of some handheld gaming device she doesn't recognize the brand of.

_ I don't think this will ever seem quite real to me._

This seems more dreamlike than the nightmare she had last night. But before her thoughts are lost in recalling something she'd rather leave unperturbed, Tobi utters a rather unpleasant yelp of dismay before banging his gaming device down on the table, causing Sakura to jolt upright in her seat, dropping her spoon into the remnants of her oatmeal.

Sasori casts an unimpressed glance at Sakura's jumpiness while Deidara half rises to his feet with the threat of smashing Tobi's game to pieces. Sakura takes the opportunity to steal a peek at the blond's abandoned sketchpad and notes with mild surprise that his level of skill certainly surpasses anything that could be classified as a doodle. A bird perched on a fence post is half-formed on his page, but is already more alive than anything Sakura could produce.

Scraping away the last of the juicy flesh of her grapefruit, Sakura waits patiently for the inevitable, her stomach fluttering with nerves for reasons she can't understand.

_Calm down. It's not like I'm about to be interrogated._

But something about this almost reminds her of how she would feel in this situation if she had to explain last night to her parents or Naruto or Ino…Any of the people she's closest to. They'd want to hear it just as much as they wouldn't want to hear it. In the same token, Sakura wouldn't want to cause them any unnecessary heartache or worry. She lived through it after all.

But these men had put in a sincere effort to save her. Putting aside any blame for how she got into such a mess in the first place, Sakura can recognize the gratitude she feels for their…caring?

She doesn't know if that's too strong a word.

She can hear her own voice whispering wickedly in her ear that Itachi sure seemed to care about her last night. Sakura's eye nearly twitches at her own devious thoughts, and she commands the heat away from her cheeks before she looks like a fool.

"So, I think she's been properly fed now," Sasori begins preemptively, eyes sliding over to meet Itachi's own hard gaze, "I'd like to find out just what happened last night. Of course, I think we've all pieced together that Deidara was an idiot, but – "

"Hey!" Deidara glares, slapping his charcoal pencil down, "I didn't mean for – "

"Well, whether or not you meant to fuck up so astoundingly well, you did. And your screw-up has cost me some valuable time now that I've had to play taxi driver for Itachi and the rest of you last night."

Deidara, bug-eyed from glaring at the three men facing off across from him, is clearly about to boil over with barely suppressed frustration when Tobi breaks the tension in the atmosphere with an out of place "Yay! Good job, Tobi!" as his game lights up with recorded applause.

A tick of annoyance appears in Sasori's jaws and Sakura wonders just how often the masked Akatsuki has lost his video games to his comrades' ire.

With a soothing exhale of breath, Itachi, ever the poised, voice of reason, interjects the deflated tension with a query of his own.

"I'd like to know why exactly you chose to bring Sakura with you last night."

Sasori sighs as though everything about this conversation has grown too bothersome and has been drawn out for far too long, but he answers nevertheless, "One of my informants tipped me off yesterday that the Sound were in the area and have been responsible for picking off some of our lesser subordinates on their errands. I had thought there might be a chance of gathering more information last night during our assignment and it helps to have a pretty face around to blend in with the usual crowd."

"She's been caged up like a rat, yeah!" Deidara nods in affirmation, crossing his arms, "She needed the fresh air."

Sasori's expression turns sour at his partner's unwanted contribution to the story while Sakura listens with rapt attention.

Sasori continues with a warning glare at his partner not to interrupt again, "I was taking care of our main assignment last night to get a heads up on the new weapons being imported into the local black market when these two," he inclines his head at Deidara and Sakura, "Up and disappeared."

_Hey, I'm the victim here! Don't make it out like this is partly my fault._

"I finished up with my business and by that time, they had been gone for around half an hour. I eventually located Deidara who was wandering around in search of Sakura. Apparently, I overestimated his responsibility in watching over one little girl," Sasori bites out caustically.

_Little girl?! I'm a doctor, you asshole!_

Attention is once again shifted back to Deidara as his blunder is revealed and the fingers of his left hand work and tug self-consciously at the bangs draping over his eye.

"Look, yeah," he starts, straightening his posture, "I took Sakura to one of the dance floors. She wasn't cooperating all that well with playing along while Sasori was doing most of the talking, so I figured it'd be a better idea to do a little exploring to check out some of the other clientele drifting around.

"Please," Sasori scoffs, leaning forward, "Call it for what it is – you were just fooling around."

"No," Deidara grits his teeth, "Because I recognized one of the men there. I had taken photos of him one of the last times Sasori and I did reconnaissance on Sound, yeah. He's one of their newer recruits and I figured he'd be easy game to bait for information."

"And you didn't think he'd recognize you," Kisame supplies for him, shaking his head, "You should have been aware of that possibility now that Kabuto has turned, kid. Even if the rat didn't have depictions of everyone, he's likely got some information on all of us."

Deidara's shoulders slump, his mouth turning down into a frown, "I wasn't thinking, yeah."

"Clearly," Sasori rolls his eyes.

Scrunching his face at his partner's scathing treatment, Deidara continues, "I got talking with the guy I was targeting, but Sakura must have gotten pulled away by one of the girls working for him. I thought she was still dancing when the Sound guys got up to leave, but I couldn't find her, yeah."

"So what happened to you, Sakura?" Itachi directs all focus on the young doctor who had been so wrapped up in listening to the story evolve around her that she's momentarily caught off guard, blinking stupidly in surprise at being called upon.

"Oh, uh, I – I guess what Deidara said was true," she begins awkwardly, quickly trying to assemble some type of chronological order to her memories of the night before, "One of the women – she had long, dark hair – tugged me back on the dance floor and I stayed there a little while until I got thirsty. She – Kin – followed me to the bar and I think the bartender must have been working with her. I don't really know," Sakura shakes her head helplessly, "But something had to have been slipped into my drink. She turned a knife on me and forced me out the back employee door and there was a car waiting for us. My head was so messed up and I think I passed out for a while until I woke up in the warehouse."

Something scratches at Sakura's brain, prodding her to strain her memory. There's some crucial little detail she's forgetting.

_What was it...?_

Sakura's chin snaps up from her unseeing staring contest with the table cloth.

"She knew who I was," Sakura speaks confidently, eyes directly on Itachi, "She called me Dr. Haruno."

Kisame nods his head, "It's not really all that surprising. Your face has been all over your local news stations and Itachi mentioned you and Kabuto recognized each other when you met up with him."

"Yes, but," Sakura grows quiet now that the easy part of her account is out on the table. She doesn't want to get into the details of her torture, not when her body still remembers the searing pain so well. But there's one piece of information she feels is too significant not to share.

With all eyes on her, some waning in patience and others trying to maintain some hint of softness to encourage her voice, Sakura continues, "They were using me to lure Itachi to them. They were under the impression that I was providing medical care for Itachi and that he'd come after me...And I heard them say something about someone being obsessed with finding him…And someone named Orochimaru?" Sakura ends uncertainly, hoping her memory has recalled the name correctly.

"Orochimaru," Sasori all but hisses, the ligaments in his hand pressed flat against the table going taut with strain at his flare up in temper.

"Who is Orochimaru?" Sakura asks tentatively, her feet wrapping nervously around the legs of her chair.

"Akatsuki wants Orochimaru dead. Tobi does too!" Tobi replies enthusiastically.

"We have a bit of a history with Orochimaru," Kisame explains grimly, "Like Kabuto, he's betrayed us though his was perhaps a bit more significant. He's been a constant thorn in our side ever since."

"And he's trying to help someone track down Itachi…" Sakura ponders aloud.

"I think I can make a guess as to who that is," Itachi says lowly with no hint of satisfaction.

But before she can question him, Itachi speaks up, "Tell us what happened in the warehouse, Sakura."

_Oh no._

It's the moment she's been dreading. Face paling, images of how horrified her parents would be if they were present to listen to this, Sakura chooses her words carefully in an attempt to keep her explanation as concise as possible.

"When I woke up in the warehouse," she swallows, averting her gaze back to her lap where she notices her hands are clasped together for strength, "I was strapped to a table and pretty groggy. Another woman, this one with red hair and glasses – I think the man called her Karin – injected me first with something to improve my awareness and then there was a second injection of bright blue liquid after I refused to answer her questions," Sakura pauses, stalling, "She wanted to know things like why I was with Itachi and what Akatsuki is currently doing, where the members are…I didn't tell her anything," Sakura reassures the group around her, noticing that she's captured even Tobi's attention entirely away from his game.

But none of the men question her honesty or pose their doubts; they merely wait in silence for her to continue.

"And then she gave me a second injection when I still wouldn't answer her stupid questions," Sakura remembers bitterly, "But I think she miscalculated how much I could take. I was burning from the inside out. My pulse was much too fast and I was losing consciousness when she screamed for the man from the club to come help her.

"Next thing I know, I'm waking up in an ice bath and Suigetsu," she says the name with difficulty, frustrated that it holds any power over her, "Is asking me some of the same questions again. I told him that the Akatsuki had kidnapped me and I had to make up a few things when he threatened," Sakura's lips tremble, still refusing to look up at any of the men watching her so intently, "To start breaking bones if I didn't talk. I had to tell him something, so I said while I didn't know where Itachi was, I knew who he was after."

At this, Itachi raises an eyebrow, interested in the lie Sakura managed to weave for the sake of saving her life.

"I told him you were going after Danzo Shimura," Sakura discloses, at last looking up at the man seated across from her, noting the sharp, flat line of his mouth that reveals nothing of his thoughts on the matter.

_Was that the wrong thing to say?_

But it's too late to take the words back. Unless Suigetsu was one of the casualties in the warehouse raid…Dare she hope for someone's death? What kind of person would that make her?

_Please let that lie be completely inconsequential. _

"And after that?" Deidara prompts expectantly.

"After that, he got a call on his walkie-talkie that everyone was to evacuate the building. The whole place was shaking," Sakura spares a glance at Deidara, "And he was told to do whatever he wanted with me – to take me or…to leave me."

At this, Sasori narrows his eyes and Sakura wonders if he's aware of just how close his timing was to her intended demise.

"He was turning his gun on me when Sasori showed up," Sakura shrugs simply, as if to say that's all there is to it.

Around her, the Akatsuki sit in nearly uncomfortable silence, chewing over the information Sakura has divulged. Sakura really doesn't know who she had been expecting to speak up first, but it certainly hadn't been Tobi.

"Tobi thinks it's high time Orochimaru was dealt with," Tobi declares, though not with his characteristic exuberance. No, this tone is decidedly calmer, more _deadly_.

It makes Sakura shiver with the wish that the playful, child-like Tobi will make his reappearance soon.

"Agreed," Sasori nods dourly, leaning back into his chair, a calculating look in his eyes.

But even as Deidara is sounding off with his agreement, Sakura's attention is solely on Itachi as Kisame turns to his long-time partner with a waiting, questioning expression.

Itachi's eyes close, unhurried if not a bit weary, as he at last passes judgment, "Orochimaru can no longer be allowed to act like an unleashed dog. I think we have no choice but to act."

* * *

**Author's Note:**** Just a heads up on the dream scene that Sakura had: it was a mixed up version of what Sakura knows happened to Shisui (through the pictures and notes she glimpsed while going through the binder Itachi showed her) as well as her mind also reliving and processing the trauma she just went through. Suigetsu was not Shisui's murderer, but he is a rather scary figure now in Sakura's mind and thus took the killer's place as she sort of put herself in Shisui's position. **

**And yay! Finally, a little one-on-one time between our two main characters. I thought it was time for a little tenderness to be shared between Itachi and Sakura seeing as he did just save her life and all and that does tend to create some form of attachment. **

**And I also sprinkled in some more subtle mentions of Sasuke, but I still can't say exactly when he'll make an appearance – just that he definitely will be in this story. I also wanted to have one of the characters bring up that Sakura's disappearance from Konoha has certainly caused some upset and her face is getting around in the news as they continue to search for her. Sakura herself is in a bit of a bubble amidst the Akatsuki and, for the most part, disconnected from the outside world. But the Akatsuki are certainly keeping tabs on how others perceive her disappearance. **

**Reviews are awesome!**

**Thanks for reading! **


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer:**** Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto.**

**Rated M:**** Due to coarse language, violence, and some adult themes.**

* * *

"_Ahem_."

Sakura barely hears the rather artificial sound of someone clearing his throat as everyone rises in a cacophony of chairs scraping across the floor and napkins being carelessly thrown on used plates with a casual air of dismissal. The only person not yet ready to rise from the table and confront their daily tasks is Itachi whom stays behind, his fork circling his glass dish of melon chunks.

A hand at her elbow has her drowsily swiveling around to greet the one keeping her from falling head first into the embrace of her bed for a power nap.

Deidara, looking decidedly abashed yet determined judging by the set of his jaw, withdraws his hand quickly, having gained Sakura's irritated gaze.

Holding up his hands in a sign of peace, his gaze shoots to the side as Sasori brushes past them without comment and Deidara remains silent until Sasori passes through the dining room doors.

Looking visibly more relaxed with his partner out of earshot, Deidara leans forward to whisper confidentially to the shorter doctor.

"Look, yeah, I know he may hide it well, but Sasori got pretty banged up last night trying to rescue you and he'll never admit it, but I think he'd benefit from a visit to the good doctor," he explains, looking pointedly at Sakura at the mention of 'the good doctor.'

Sakura exhales loudly, rubbing a limp fist into her eye socket.

"Fine."

"Thank you, yeah," Deidara replies with surprising sincerity as he leads her away from the lone Uchiha pretending for all the world that he doesn't know what the two of them are up to. Tromping through the lobby, Sakura is surprised to witness another person crossing the scarlet carpet, smoothly landing a canvas bag on the counter of the concierge-like desk without pause before gliding up the main staircase to one of the gleaming elevators ready and waiting to whisk him away into the deeper reaches of the headquarters. She tries not to let her eyes linger for long on the tanned skin with its oddly patterned tattoos of what she takes for stitches at such a distance.

_Strange bunch._

With equal finesse, Deidara grabs up the bag in stride as Sakura trails after him questioningly.

"I don't really know what you'll need, but it should all be in here, yeah," Deidara answers the large, green eyes tracking the swing of the bag in his hand.

Unlike the wing jutting off the right of the lobby that she uses to reach her own suite, the left hand side lacks the empty offices and is instead lined with closed, imposing doors that don't offer the slightest sign of welcoming the curious to come peer into the rooms beyond. The lighting is notably dimmer too, their shadows floating along the walls in blurred, shapeless smudges.

The hall ends in a T-shape and Deidara takes the sharp turn to the right, where he raps his knuckles smartly against the closed door, unburdens himself of the canvas tote bag, and makes haste back from whence he came, leaving a befuddled Sakura to face the squinting wrath of the redhead opening the door to his chambers.

"What?" he asks blandly with a faint tinge of impatience. His body blocks Sakura's view of his inner sanctum as he refuses to open the door much more than a few inches.

Sakura stoops to clasp the handles of the abandoned medical supply bag with a weary sigh.

"This is your partner's doing, just so we're clear."

Sakura shrugs innocently at the peeved Akatsuki as he brings both thumb and index finger to pinch the skin between his eyes. However, whatever ire is mounting within him reluctantly diffuses at the sight of what must be a familiar bag clasped in Sakura's capable hands and he begrudgingly opens the door for Sakura to squeeze on through.

Whatever Sakura was expecting to be decorating the interior of Sasori's personal dwellings, it certainly isn't what confronts her eyes now. She had supposed that should any of the Akatsuki have the desire to make their lairs a bit more _personal_ than her own standard hotel room, they'd find comfort in things like antique swords and stolen artwork, or maybe a few shelves filled with how-to manuals on world domination and the oppression of entire civilizations.

But no.

Decidedly, this is much…cooler.

In the warm, buttery orange light cast by several antique table lamps with slag glass shades in swirled colors of caramel and yellow cream, Sakura stands gawking at the machinery laid out on nearly every tabletop and hanging from hooks mounted to the walls – wherever there is space between the gilded framed landscape paintings Sakura would find more appropriate adorning some granny's parlor than a criminal's work room.

For a moment, Sakura forgets herself and her purpose as her feet wander toward the nearest table covered in a thick matting of dozens of what she identifies to be blueprints. Designs and sketches for – well, she really isn't too sure – are etched in a meticulous, careful hand, the lines precise and the labels and notes off to the side in a tidy format.

_Who are you?_

Turning around to gape at the man who has shut the door to the hallway and is striding to her side with an agitated expression marring his doll-like visage, Sakura begins to understand that men like Sasori and the rest of the Akatsuki aren't merely recruited for their brawn or their bloodlust. These men have real skills, skills that make them lethal in a very intellectual, purposeful way.

"What is all of this?" she asks awed, hand fluttering out to needlessly indicate the assortment of parts in various stages of completion on the tables placed in neat, tight rows all the way to the back wall of the room. Some of the items are clear to guess at, like the guns and what appears to be some kind of device that ejects a set of nasty looking blades. But the rest?

_Robotics?_

One of the assemblages closest to her undeniably looks like a partially formed arm amongst the matrix of cords and metallic plating. Whatever it is, it looks highly advanced for someone she had considered to be little more than a thug.

"None of your damn business," he snaps, grabbing at the bag hanging loosely in her hold and ushering her to a corner of the room where he sits it on a plain office desk and begins to ransack its contents.

"Now, now, take a seat," Sakura inclines her head to the recliner in the very corner with an impressive collection of textbooks stacked beside it and reaching all the way up to the armrest.

Surprisingly, Sasori consents, making Sakura wonder if Deidara's worries really were warranted. Sasori seems much too proud of a man to ever be bossed around, especially by someone like her.

_Maybe he really is hurt._

Sifting through the materials she has to work with, Sakura's nimble hands quickly latch onto the sleek plastic case of antiseptics and gauze bandages, figuring this is where she'll have to start.

"So what seems to be the problem?" she asks with a casual smile to show she poses no threat, turning to fully face her patient who, to her utter shock, has already removed his shirt as he regards her with a bored expression, rolling his shoulders to release their withheld tension.

Thanks to the view, Sakura no longer requires an answer as she spots the bandage wrapped around the taut muscles of Sasori's stomach.

"Hhhmm," Sakura hums aloud, eyes roving over the handiwork that had already been applied to ivory skin, "Ok, this would be easier if you were lying down."

"I couldn't agree more," he purrs, a teasing glint in his eyes as he hefts himself to his feet, passing within inches of Sakura's unamused form to languidly arrange himself before her atop the desk, folding his arms behind his head for cushion.

"Well, aren't you a compliant one," Sakura remarks through twisted lips, caught between wanting to smile at his subtle humor, and also wanting to appear uninterested in his suggestive behavior of which she assumes is more of an act to disgruntle her more than anything else.

"You've caught me in a good mood," he replies, "Lucky you."

Sakura snorts, practiced fingers already working at the loose bandaging where a slight tinge of pink is coloring the otherwise snow white gauze. Worried, she peels it away from the irritated skin hidden beneath and tuts her tongue at the wound.

"Shrapnel?"

"Yes. I extracted what little there was last night."

"All of it?" Sakura needles, a dubious eyebrow raised at the lax criminal underneath her fingertips.

"I'm _certain_," Sasori sneers between tight lips, his eyes imperceptibly slitting open to cast the young doctor an insulted glare.

Sakura forces herself to bite back the rebuke bubbling up in her throat, instead opting to snap on a pair of gloves and rip open the packaging of a new probing tool that she lets stand in a bottle of disinfectant.

"No exit wound?" she asks briskly as she stirs the wand-like probe, mentally counting the seconds as they tick by.

"None. What are you doing?" Sasori asks, a sharp edge to his tone as it's apparent his good will is quickly waning the longer Sakura stands over him with her black bag of medical weaponry in easy reach.

"I need to inspect the wound to ensure you didn't miss anything," she explains innocently, wiping the probe with a clean cloth.

"I told you already, I already – "

"I know. But I have to know for sure or else it could mean big trouble for you. Shrapnel wounds are particularly prone to infection. We can't risk it. I wouldn't be doing my job properly if I didn't see for myself," Sakura assures gently in her soothing voice she uses specially for her more jumpy or grouchy patients.

Truthfully, it appears that Sasori does have at least some rudimentary training in first aid and she'll be even more impressed if she finds out it's true that nothing of the material that impaled him is left within his punctured flesh.

With mild sympathy that she masks with a light jibe, she asks, "You aren't scared of a little _discomfort_, are you?"

The fingers that had been gripping onto the edge of the desk at either side of his hips, relax their hold as though suddenly conscious of their action and Sasori sniffs in derision, refusing to dignify the doctor's taunt with a response.

"Brace yourself, I'm going to begin."

Discomfort is putting it lightly, but Sakura has to rely on the likelihood that a big baddy like Sasori will be too proud to let out so much as a whimper in her presence. Without the aid of a numbing agent or anesthetic, she knows he'll be fighting the urge to squirm. But she can't allow sorrow to seep into her face, not when she's supposed to serve as the pillar of strength and certainty in such delicate procedures. Even for this Akatsuki member, she will do no less than her best.

_Even though I don't have everything I need…_

Leaning closer, she inserts the instrument into the yet-to-heal wound, immediately relaxing as she observes that the wound isn't especially deep, just in need of some stitches to assist the skin in knitting back together without continued bleeding.

Of course, she doubts her patient will be happy to hear the word 'stiches.'

In order to prep him for further _discomfort_, she decides to stoke his ego slightly so as not to feel as guilty for what must be done.

"Well, I must say, you've done a good job at taking care of this yourself."

Just as he said, the wound is cleared of debris.

The crease between Sasori's eyebrows deepens at Sakura's light-hearted compliment, his eyes remaining resolutely fixed to some point on the ceiling so as to pass for at least minimally at ease while someone pokes around what feels like a ragged, burning hole in his abdomen.

"I hate repeating myself," he grits out, and it's all Sakura can do to not crack a smile at the tight-lipped, forced reply.

Extracting the probe and setting it aside, she sets herself to the task of applying disinfectant to the wound and surrounding area as well as wiping away the small dribble of fresh blood slowly streaking its way down Sasori's side, noting the shiver and spread of goosebumps as she swipes it away with efficient hands.

_Ticklish?_

She smirks to herself, dipping her tiny needle into disinfectant as she takes one calming inhalation of breath, already foreseeing the successful outcome of this impromptu visit. Really, this job has turned out to be a cake walk with the most difficult aspect being the patient himself rather than the malady.

Sasori sighs despondently in equal parts irritation and resignation to his fate as his eyes at last leave their point of focus to trail down the plane of his body to where the doctor's nimble fingers wipe delicately over his broken skin.

"Stitches?"

"I'm afraid so," Sakura responds jovially as she threads her needle without a hint of frustration before pinching Sasori's flesh between two latexed fingers to get what she privately refers to as an artist's feel for the material she'll soon be working with.

Sasori groans at the unfavorable verdict, but surprises Sakura as, unlike many of her patients, he opts to crane his neck as much as possible without jostling his position so as to receive a better view of Sakura's performance.

"Better you than Kakuzu, I suppose."

Sakura only hums vaguely in answer, her mind already tracing over the familiar zigzag pattern her needle will soon produce as she makes the first piercing down through the sub-dermal layer of skin before directing the angle to bring the needle level so as to pass to the adjacent wall of the wound. From there, it's quick work to stitch away from her initial position, and she ties the thread with a careful knot.

After applying a soft layer of cotton, Sakura declares her task completed and thanks her lucky stars for such a simple procedure. She really hadn't known what to expect when Deidara pulled her away from the dining room and Sasori had been so compliant to her instructions as though wishing to openly accept her help, but too proud to actually do so.

Sasori's eyes don't leave her form even as she turns away to clean up her improvised work station. He merely offers a dull command to leave the tools where they are for him to deal with. Sakura takes a step back from the desk with a roll of gauze being busily wrapped back up into a precise, neat roll, allowing Sasori the space and time to rise at his own pace. Gingerly, his spine lifts away from the surface of the desk, and her eyes are glued steadfastly to his expression, alert for any signs of pain at the sensation of skin being pulled and stretched tight by the sutures. As her wrists go through the circular motion of rolling up the bandages, Sasori's own hand hesitates for a moment over the patch of cotton taped to his stomach, causing a warning to rise in Sakura's throat. However, her words go unspoken as Sasori's fingers merely hover before dropping listlessly to his side as he slides from the desk and to his feet.

Settling himself into the cushioned embrace of his recliner still sans shirt, he at last comments, "Not bad, kid. I honestly wasn't quite sure I believed the whole doctor bit until now."

Sakura can feel a tick developing in her forehead, somewhere just above her left eyebrow.

"I'm sorry, _what_?"

"You're young and," he trails off, index finger swirling lazily in the air in her direction as he mulls over the perfect word, "_Pink_. Your appearance is disconcerting with your profession. And it's not unusual for Itachi to keep up a lie as long as it suits him, even with other members of the Akatsuki," he adds, eyes trailing back down to the patch on his stomach.

_Great. So he's a confirmed notorious liar. Just swell. _

"Well, it doesn't sound like you surround yourself with very trustworthy company," Sakura demurs, "But no, he didn't lie about me."

Tossing the finished roll lightly between her hands, Sakura turns her back on the redhead to continue packing up the few supplies left scattered across the desktop, desperate to keep her hands busy so as not to be left out in the open, exposed and frozen in the penetrating gaze of her patient.

Sasori hums with mild amusement, rolling his neck as he settles back into his seat, eyeing the doctor in the warm glow of his antique lamps as she wipes the needle and folds away a cloth towel. His rows of workbenches with their chaotic order of parts and semi-assemblages gleam in the background as he mentally traces the curve of her outline with a (mostly) pure aesthetic appreciation.

"You're right. They're not a very likeable bunch, but we're all together for our own self-serving purposes. It's just business."

Sakura manages to spare a glance back over her shoulder, "Oh? Well, remind me to avoid any future business transactions with your organization when this is all said and done. I never want to see another Akatsuki member as long as I live."

"Such strong feelings of resentment. Have we really treated you so poorly to deserve it?"

Sakura stills at the deadpan, innocent tone of the Akatsuki, curious as to whether he could truly be so dense as to genuinely question such a thing. But the smirk playing at his lips is too telling and she shakes her head.

"Where do I begin?"

But something in his eyes quickly flickers from playful to somber as he continues, "Good luck, Sakura. I sincerely hope to see you make it out of this."

His eyes are unwavering in their hold, so unyielding that it is Sakura who must look away in self-consciousness as her patient rests leisurely in his chair.

_He's like a sly cat. Completely content with himself._

"You have your doubts?" she decides to ask playfully, her fingers busily bundling up her supplies into their plastic case.

"I'm merely suggesting that it will be no small feat. The man you're traveling with has an impressive target on his back. By association, you will too," his words trail off softly, allowing the truth in his statement to sink in as the busy doctor's hands slow in their winding of the gauze bandages.

Mentally shaking her head, Sakura's eyes blink quickly, snapping herself out of her rather unpleasant train of thought as she clasps her medical case shut with a smart _click_ and turns back to the Akatsuki shrewdly studying her for a reaction.

"Your concern is appreciated but unnecessary," Sakura replies firmly, speaking as much to herself as she is to Sasori, "I don't intend to die among terrorists."

She smiles wryly and Sasori's thin lips stretch into a smirk at her brazen attitude and light barb. She'll need that spunk to cope with what Itachi is sure to put her through. Meanwhile, Sakura knows Sasori is not the type to worry, no, of that much she is certain. Worrying is for those with premature wrinkles and graying hair, not for men like Sasori with grandiose visions of beauty and efficiency.

He won't worry for her. None of the Akatsuki will. Her insertion into their lives has been an unprecedented blip in their expectations of day-to-day activities. And she has merely provided them with the clear conviction that old enemies need to be eliminated. They aren't acting on her behalf, but at least they try to show some appropriate level of concern at her impending departure into uncertainty – something which has yet to truly sink in for Sakura. She knows she's about to return to her suite and pack up her meager possessions before turning her back on the protection of the Akatsuki headquarters, probably for the last time, yet none of it seems real to her. It's as if she's simply preparing to step out for a bit to run some errands.

_I need to get a grip._

Levity is not a luxury she can afford right now.

"So, I don't suppose I'll be seeing you again after this?" Sakura asks, the curiosity of such a thought suddenly striking her.

Sasori supplies an almost imperceptible nod, "If we're doing our jobs right, no."

Sakura smiles to herself at this, the comical thought of these spying, assassin-like Akatsuki trailing after her, supplanting any guardian angel she may have had watching over her well-being.

_Who am I kidding? They ARE assassins and any guardian angel of mine has loooong since been gone on vacation._

"Well," Sakura begins, struggling to string together a suitable farewell, "I guess it's been nice knowing you?"

Sasori hums with good humor at the young woman's mannered response and even more at her cringing reaction to hearing the lack of conviction in her own voice.

"And the same to you, little dancer."

His eyes narrow with wicked humor as Sakura's face is consumed with a red glow in remembrance of how she had first become acquainted with this man and his partner.

Turning promptly on her heel to conceal any more of her embarrassment, Sakura strides quickly to the exit and doesn't spare even one condescending glare back at the chuckle that escapes the smirking Akatsuki.

* * *

Tossing her few belongings into a duffle bag someone had taken the liberty of dropping off on the corner of her unmade bed, Sakura casts aside the charger to her long lost Akatsuki-approved phone as she tucks in her toothbrush and a stack of socks. With her life packed up in one neat, black nylon parcel, Sakura frowns to herself as she takes a seat on the edge of the bed, the screen of her TV flickering images across her unseeing eyes though she can't be bothered to track down the remote to unmute it.

_What could they have planned?_

Swiveling her neck around, she glances at the pillow that had cradled Itachi's head throughout the night. He had seemed so at peace when he woke up, but now Sakura doubts she'll ever see the Uchiha so relaxed again. Not with this Orochimaru character to contend with.

A knock at the door has Sakura startling to attention as she half rises from the bed only to dismiss the effort with a call to let the visitor know he can let himself in.

Itachi shortly appears before her, casting a blank glance at the muted television screen and then to the young woman sitting lethargically before it, making no comment on either.

"Are you ready to leave?"

_No._

"Yes," Sakura replies, baffled at the overwhelming sensation of dread crashing upon her senses as she slowly stands to slip on her shoes. Something prickles at her intuition, screaming at her to stay put, to go no further lest she bring some unchangeable circumstance upon herself. She didn't think she'd ever find herself hesitant to leave the impersonal dwellings of her temporary sanctuary, but here she is with cement blocks tied to her feet and one Itachi Uchiha, too poised to demand she get a grip, but still giving her a questioning look as she demonstrates minor difficulty with hoisting her bag to her shoulder before he takes it from her.

She shuffles wordlessly after him, all the while confused over the rapid thundering of her heart as the door to her suite closes behind her for the last time.

_I should be happy about this. I'm leaving and that means I'm getting closer to going home. To being safe._

Right?

Sakura worries her bottom lip as she steps into the elevator after the man she just now observes is dressed from head to toe in black save for the red band loosely collecting his ebony hair to the base of his skull.

The image of Itachi out shopping for hair accessories reduces her anxiety to a more manageable level and she even manages to match Itachi's brisk stride as he exits the headquarters, trailing hot on his heels as they enter the outside world in the early afternoon to make their way to a black sedan. Itachi stows her bag into the trunk, giving Sakura just enough time to glimpse a few other packages and bags stored in its keep before he shuts the lid on it.

"So where are we going?" Sakura asks as she snaps the seatbelt buckle into place, finally bringing herself to face her – her what? Kidnapper? Rescuer? Partner in crime?

Regardless, she's built up enough confidence to at least plaster on a mask of calmness as Itachi turns the key in the ignition.

She notes with some miniscule inkling of happiness that the dark circles that had started to ring Itachi's eyes have receded, though there's an intense alertness about him that has the hairs on the back of Sakura's neck standing up, wondering if she should wake up and be more on edge instead of sitting around dull and useless.

"We're taking the fight to the Sound. Our destination is Oto."

His tone is flat. Emotionless. Final.

"O-Oto?" Sakura stammers, surprised and beginning to truly wake up, "But, why are we going _toward_ the people that tried to kill me?"

Itachi is too careful in his driving to catch Sakura's alarmed eyes, but the strength of his voice has Sakura captured in the protection of his calm, calculating certainty.

"Because it is inevitable that the Sound will soon be sending out a specialized unit to obtain Danzo. They'll be going after something they think I want while I go after what I really want."

"Which is?"

"Orochimaru out of the picture," Itachi states firmly, gently rolling to a stop as a cluster of school children just released from class, flood the crosswalk in an exuberant mass of laughter and shrieking.

"He's been allowed to play in the shadows for too long. Akatsuki made a mistake by not taking him out as soon as he departed the organization. He's proven to be more than just a nuisance, but an actual threat."

"But why go to them? Why are we not hiding?" Sakura struggles to make sense of Itachi's plan even as she watches a little girl that reminds her of a young Ino take the hand of a man she assumes to be the father as they cross the road together.

Itachi, too, has his eyes on the brightly colored windbreakers and backpacks covered in cartoon character prints.

"My clock is ticking, Sakura," he replies quietly, "I've been listening carefully over the years for the approach of the final hour and now I can feel it upon me. And at this point I've learned the job of cleaning up the corruption in the world is too great for one man alone to eradicate. It takes many men, doing many small things to chip away at the blight we have brought upon our own kind."

Sakura doesn't have the energy to dive into the depths of Itachi's philosophical revelation; she can only focus on what she is capable of fixing and that is the man himself.

"Itachi," Sakura begins quietly as they are at last motioned forward by the crosswalk guard, "You don't have to throw in the towel. I can help you. We could find a treatment that could extend – "

"I appreciate it, really. But I've already exhausted every possibility I could find. All that I can do now is ensure I remove as many threats as I can before I go. You were right that day, you know."

"I'm sure I was, but remind me again of which time you're talking about," Sakura quips dryly, despite the dueling emotions romping within her. As misery lances through her heart, the mantra _Itachi tells lies_ prances about her thoughts.

"During our first visit in that Suna pit, you hypothesized I came back to Konoha because I was dying and wanted forgiveness for my wrongdoings. That really wasn't as far off the mark as I wanted you to believe. In a way, I've been trying to atone for my actions ever since I got my revenge for Shisui."

Sakura holds her tongue, ears practically twitching in alertness to catch his words.

"I lost myself for a while. At first it was beyond my control, and then it was out of self-preservation for my own sanity after I was required again and again to prove myself useful to the Akatsuki in exchange for their help. Hatred at this unknown entity responsible for stealing my best friend was the only thing powerful enough to keep me going day after day, and when it was over, when I got what I wanted and learned there was still all this unsatisfied rage left over and that the true culprit had yet to be confronted, I nearly broke.

"I had been blind-sided and manipulated and as much as I wanted to leave everything behind me and turn myself in, I knew I could accomplish more by staying put and enduring. And I have, but there's not much more left of me. I need your help."

The panic that had almost entirely fled Sakura's memory begins to creep into the back of her skull like crawling, scraggly-nailed fingers, the sort of panic that overcomes a student when confronted with an exam she doesn't know a single answer to. And Sakura definitely doesn't know how to answer Itachi, doesn't even know how to process this unprompted disclosure or reason out why he would choose to tell her of all people.

But her voice is stronger than her confidence in this moment and she manages to ask, "How can I help?"

"Stay with me," Itachi answers, "I need a doctor at the ready to keep me on my feet until we've dealt with Orochimaru. And although this won't make you happy to hear, you're beneficial to have in my possession. Danzo wants you for the information he assumes you know, and Orochimaru wants you because of the value he assumes you have to me. And the Akatsuki are going to make certain that the Sound accomplish their mission, albeit without them knowing."

"What?! Why?!"

"Strategy. We want them to be overconfident and to make it appear as though they have the upper hand. In truth, Danzo's elimination by Sound would not irk me, but they're going to use him as a lure if they've truly fallen for the lie you fed them."

"What do you have that they want?"

Itachi pauses for a moment, his gaze cutting to the rear view mirror where two cars behind them, a motorcyclist in a black, full face helmet revs his engine impatiently as they come to another stop light. He doubts the young woman next to him has even noticed the rider has been tailing them since their departure. Luckily for her, this rider is one of their own.

"My life, most likely," he says at last, "Though, again, they lack the information to know mine has nearly run its course."

Sakura pushes her shoulders back into her seat, mulling this possibility over.

"So, what? They expect you'd gladly turn yourself over to them in exchange for them handing over Danzo to you first to kill? That's just stupid," she huffs.

But Itachi surprises her with a strong exhalation of breath that could almost count as a laugh.

"Nothing is ever done quite so simply and cleanly as that, Doctor. No, they merely think I'd be willing to risk my own life to take back Danzo for the pleasure of killing him myself."

"It's still dumb," Sakura sniffs, crossing her ankles.

"Men do not always behave rationally when desperate."

"Which is why women should rule the world," she asserts, looking out of the corner of her eye to see what Itachi's reaction might be.

Itachi smirks, giving no more than a neutral comment of, "The difference would certainly be interesting."

"And how long is this going to take?"

"It largely depends on how soon Sound chooses to act. We already have a team deployed for Konoha, traveling about an hour ahead of us, with a second one on the way. They'll be waiting for the Sound's arrival and ensure they're capable of successfully pulling Danzo from the keep he holes himself in. Once we've made good time through Konoha, we'll start to slow down and wait for word from the other teams before proceeding into Oto lest we out-run them and arrive first."

"To keep up the illusion?" Sakura guesses.

"Precisely."

Sakura lets a few pregnant moments of silence pass through the car until her impatience can be stretched no further.

"Sooooooo, if you had to make an estimate…?"

Itachi sighs with good-natured defeat, "I would give it no more than two weeks tops. Less if we're lucky."

"Well, I hope you're lucky, Uchiha, because I'm going to end up missing my rent payment if that's the case," Sakura replies sulkily. The practicalities of what was once her ordinary, nondescript life are beginning to mount in an ever-growing checklist she's unable to make a mark on.

"Don't fret, Haruno. I'm sure you won't find yourself homeless upon your return."

Sakura grumbles indistinctly under her breath, though her intent is fairly clear as the firmness around Itachi's thin lips softens just a bit. It isn't long before Sakura finds herself leaning her head against the passenger window, her eyes bored by the bland scenery as they pass the outer limits of Ame's reach and enter the flat fields of the surrounding farmland that has already been harvested for the year. Shutting her eyes to the withered, stripped cornstalks and washed out gray of the sky, her arms wrapped around herself for comfort, Sakura dozes lightly in and out of sleep. She rises for fleeting intervals of semi-consciousness every now and then, too tired to be amused by Itachi's choice of radio stations.

Odd dreams of pancake eating robot families interjected with images of a ponytailed rock star keep her occupied until Itachi gently nudges her awake.

"We're here."

* * *

**Author's Note:**** So, for a while I've had the idea of making Sasori this kind of genius at robotics engineering, being valuable to the Akatsuki for his knowledge on military weaponry and how to build it while also serving his own purposes of building life-like creations with the help of Akatsuki's extensive coffers. It was my take on giving Sasori's art for puppetry a more modern twist, but there was never really a relevant time to introduce that part about him until now. **

**I doubt it's clear at all, but what I've had in mind all this time is that part of the reason Itachi doesn't go after Danzo has to do with his self-discipline and atonement for losing a bit of his own self-respect by letting revenge consume him. Danzo is a temptation he sets before himself, and each day he turns away from that temptation, he's gained a little more self-control. **

**Be prepared for more action ahead; unfortunately, this chapter was largely just set-up for what's to come (and hopefully it won't take as long to update). More will be explained as to how Akatsuki plans to ensnare Orochimaru. Also, THANK YOU for the lovely, kind reviews. They're a pleasure to read and re-read.**

**And, as always, thanks for reading.**


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer:**** Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto.**

**Rated M:**** Due to coarse language, violence, and some adult themes.**

* * *

"Eeehhhmmm?" Sakura groans in response, lethargy greatly hindering her facial muscles from moving to allow correct articulation. Not even able to open her eyes, her body turns in the direction of Itachi's voice, the scrape of the polyester seatbelt barely registering across her cheek. However, the crisp chill of the evening air startles goosebumps into existence over the expanse of her bare arms. Itachi has decided to assist (or rather expedite) her exit from the vehicle, standing at her side with the passenger door open.

Squirming into an unsatisfying stretch within the confines of her seat, Sakura heaves herself awake with an aggravated sigh, her hand lunging out for the handle of the door to better hoist herself out. Yet, in her half-dazed state, she neglects to unclick the strap whose very purpose is to prevent said action.

The sound of a muffled chuckle has Sakura squinting with displeasure as her hands fumble to release the restraint before pushing her way past the bemused Akatsuki member who makes the wise decision to withhold any further remark as the blurry-eyed doctor stumbles across the mostly empty parking lot with defiance. Yet, she doesn't get far before coming to her senses and realizing she has no idea where her feet are leading her.

"Where are we?" she asks, her grumpiness ebbing away as she turns her head this way and that to take in the nondescript motel parking lot. The last fading memories of pinks and purples linger on the horizon while the nearly full moon has already made its nightly debut. In the glow of the parking lot lamplight, their shadows stretch ahead of them as Itachi leads the way to a room designated by the number nine.

"Our stopping point for the time being," Itachi answers simply, slipping a card into the access slot before pulling down on the handle to allow their entrance. Finding the light switch proves to be another fumbling experience as Sakura feels along the wall in the darkened room, silently cursing the closed blinds. But when at last her palm swipes across it, she is greeted with pretty much exactly what she expected.

This room is just as impersonal as her last one, though decidedly less…swanky.

Turning back to glance at Itachi for further direction, she notes that he has yet to move from his lingering position in the doorway.

"I'll be back in twenty minutes or so. Keep the curtains closed and answer the door for no one except me," Itachi instructs, gaze boring into Sakura's to calmly emphasize just how detrimental it is that she follow everything to the letter.

Sakura rubs at her eye, nodding along. Curiosity prickles at her brain, enticing her tongue to speak up and demand more from the stoic Uchiha who offers little in the way of details, but she's too cold and too tired to bother summoning up the energy such an effort would require. Still, the door doesn't shut behind her after a moment's pause, causing Sakura to tear her eyes away from the starched comforter of the bed to glance back at her traveling companion.

Her stiff shoulders drop in realization of what it is he's waiting for.

"I'm not going anywhere. Leave already."

Such words would normally sound harsh, but Sakura's wry expression and gentle tone softens the order and she's almost certain Itachi's posture straightens the slightest degree at receiving her word.

As soon as she finds herself shut in the motel room alone, Sakura hustles over to the door, palms plastered flat against the surface as she brings her eye level to the peephole to track Itachi's movements. Watching as he smoothly slides into the driver's seat and puts the car into reverse to back out onto the main road and cruise away, Sakura ponders what errands he could possibly have to run during such a time, but decides that that line of question will get her nowhere.

Itachi is an enigma. His business is his own and Sakura will just have to accept that lest she have any chance of gaining some peace of mind.

Turning away from the door, she's faced with the heavy, light-canceling curtains colored in some unappealing shade of puke peach that matches the equally awful comforter of blossoms and leaves.

_Gag-o-rama. Ino would definitely have words with the interior designer of this place._

Thinking of her blonde friend, Sakura feels a pang of longing jab through her chest before she uses brute will power to force the depressing thoughts from her head.

_I'll see them again._

_Soon…_

Sakura ignores her duffle bag sitting neatly by the front door, awaiting her attention, and decides that unpacking can take place later. For now, she's going to investigate the quality of the mattress to see if it feels as solid and unforgiving as it looks.

_It does._

And not for the first time in the last five minutes does she wonder why Itachi would stay in such a two-bit joint when the Akatsuki clearly has money to spare. She doesn't even want to begin to question why he didn't see fit to acquire separate rooms, or at least a room with two beds.

The dank smell of a particular narcotic Sakura has never been enticed by comes in loud and clear through her nostrils courtesy of whomever is occupying a neighboring room. Sighing, Sakura sightlessly kicks off her shoes from her supine position on the mattress, leaving them in the middle of the floor as future potential tripping/murder devices.

It feels like she gets in all of two and a half winks worth of sleep before the electronic beep of the door alerts her to Itachi's return and with little enthusiasm she props herself on her elbows to watch his entrance.

_Why do I feel like crap?_

Right, the torture.

If she ever meets those Sound thugs again…

_No._

She strikes the thought quickly from her mind. She'd rather never see them again and live to tell the tale rather than pathetically pretend she'd ever be able to get any sort of retribution for what they did to her.

Itachi strides in with a few brown paper sacks he piles onto the low-sitting dresser next to the mini fridge, taking the remaining parcels, a small, durable black case with a lock and a nylon messenger bag in a similar shade, to the round glass table in the corner with its uncomfortable armchair.

Even to Sakura's untrained eye, she can guess what the locked case holds.

She swallows with unease, suddenly hyper-aware of the peril she's in.

The crinkling sound of the paper bags has Sakura's attention reverting back to the man rummaging through them to produce…bananas?

"You went grocery shopping?" Sakura asks incredulously, eyes glued to the growing number of items Itachi unsheathes from the bag, from a loaf of bread to deli meat to a package of cookies that has Sakura's eyebrow arching up in amusement.

Itachi shrugs noncommittally, as he transitions from stocking the mini fridge to slapping together a quick meal of cold cuts. Sakura scrambles to her feet, settling on a peanut butter and banana sandwich while eying the package of cookies, not wanting to be the first one to tear into them.

Just as she's polishing off a Golden Delicious apple right to its core, the words of the droning anchorwoman on the TV catches her ears, her apple falling to the paper plate in her lap as she's confronted with a familiar face on the screen.

Her own.

They used her hospital ID photo, her pale skin looking even more washed out against the stark whiteness of her crisp, clean lab coat, but at least her eye make-up had been applied well that day, her face bearing no traces of the usual dark circles. Rationally, Sakura knows she's looking at herself projected on the local news, yet she feels entirely disconnected as though listening to a missing person's report for someone else. Perhaps because she's sitting comfortably enough with life and limbs intact. The newswoman reads off the details of her appearance and last known whereabouts, as well as the fact that her disappearance may be in connection to Itachi Uchiha's recent escape. From there, attention quickly shifts from her own apparent kidnapping to the infamy of the eldest Uchiha son and his descent into crime.

Sakura is little more than a footnote in his long list of "accomplishments."

For his part, Itachi gives no reaction to the televised recap of his past though Sakura knows he must surely be paying close attention from his seat in the corner of the room. It's not until the evening news shifts to the next topic of tragedy for the night that Itachi makes use of the remote gripped in his hand and turns the channel to some trivia show that barely goes noticed by Sakura, her thoughts turned inward on the people back home that must surely be worried sick about her.

"Sakura."

It takes Itachi's calm, penetrating voice to disperse the thick cloud of anxiety stuffing her mind. It's only thanks to him that she realizes her hands are gripping her forearms, her nails biting into the skin. With a weak grimace, she retracts her hold, embarrassedly moving her hands to cover the crescent-shaped indents.

"Yeah?"

Itachi blinks, clearly having noticed her odd behavior, but thankfully refraining from making any comment on it.

"Have you ever used a gun before?"

Sakura is caught off guard by the question, but already her pulse is quickening with worry over where this conversation is headed. Already dreading his response, Sakura knows lying won't get her out of what's to come – he can already read her answer like an open book.

"No. Never."

And that is how Sakura Haruno comes to appreciate the grim, fatal beauty of wielding a weapon with the intention to kill.

* * *

With the_ pop! pop! pop! _of the sheriff's pistol ringing through the dusty air in the old Western playing on TV, Sakura gives a tired yawn, signaling her readiness to end the lesson and call it a night as the bad guys are driven out of town.

Rubbing her forehead to relieve some of the strain gathering between her eyes, she has to admit that it wasn't as scary as she had expected it to be. Sure, she may have had doubts that she'd load it incorrectly and the whole thing would somehow backfire and take off her hand and half an arm, but she has to confess there was something satisfying about fitting each bullet into the magazine within a matter of seconds and standing primed for action. Sure she only had the theory of how to properly sight and take aim at her target rather than any practical experience, and she'd rather not find herself in a situation where she has to run around with the safety off in case some enemy is sitting poised to ambush her, but she can't help a tired smile from slipping into place.

She's proud.

She can take apart and reassemble the handgun Itachi has chosen to gift her with – one of several that had been contained within the locked case. The nylon bag, as she had found out early in their lesson, is filled to capacity with ammo, making it much heavier than the easy demeanor with which Itachi carried it implied. She doesn't know how well her two-handed stance will do; Itachi had nudged here and there at her posture as she pretended to take aim at one of the bland landscape photos framed on the wall, coaching her to spread her feet shoulder width apart, knees slightly bent. The hardest part was reminding herself to not lock her elbows as she held her arms straight out while aligning her sights. He had to chastise her on more than one occasion to keep her finger from the trigger until she's completely prepared to fire.

And though neither are certain how her aim is (and Sakura is banking on it being pretty poor), both know that she isn't going to be attempting any flashy sniper shots. No, Itachi has decided to trust a gun in Sakura's hands as a last line of defense in a close range situation in which it's either her life or her attacker's and no one is coming to her rescue. There's no other scenario in which she'd even be remotely comfortable in taking aim at another life.

Hell, even now as she flexes her stiff fingers and deposits the unloaded gun back into its case, she isn't certain she could do it if her life depended on it.

But she has a feeling it likely will.

In fact, when Itachi first unfastened the combination lock, something like destiny flooded her senses as her eyes landed on the matte black object. A tingling buzz zinged across her scalp as Itachi's long fingers wrapped around the selected gun and carefully handed it to her awaiting, novice grasp.

Now, with the gun concealed from sight, Sakura feels as though she can breathe a little bit easier, but also as though she has lost something important. Something comforting.

How funny that she would ever feel any sort of attachment to something that could cause such damage. She had always loathed guns before, never wishing to touch one, yet here she is. Getting gun pointers from Itachi Uchiha no less.

_What's my life come to?_

With a quick rummage through her duffle bag, she produces an ensemble that will suffice as pajamas and claims the bathroom for a few moments of privacy to talk herself into an uncaring calm over the sleeping arrangement she's about to find herself in. But when she emerges from the bathroom with her teeth freshly brushed, she finds Itachi has yet to move from his seat in the corner of the room, only now she finds him with his fingers marking the pages of a book as he glances up at her dubious expression.

"Aren't you going to sleep?" she asks, eying the dismaying sight of the hotel alarm clock with its glaring red digits.

_When did it get to be 1:00 am?!_

"Soon," he replies, eyes already resuming the line from whence he broke off.

Sakura frowns at the book, thwarted by its blank, dull green face that reveals nothing of its contents. Had there once been a laminated cover for it, Itachi had since removed it from the hardback text.

Inwardly rolling her eyes at the Uchiha's peculiar inclinations, Sakura climbs into bed, peeling back the stiff comforter to slip between the sheets and rest her head on the lumpy pillow. Yet try as she might, sleep eludes her despite the tiredness burning her eyes and the stiffness creeping into her neck, warning of a fast approaching headache lest she out-race it into unconsciousness.

Scrunching her eyes, Sakura flips from her side to her stomach, but quickly flips to her back after inhaling the unfamiliar, musty scent of the pillowcase.

What she wouldn't give to be home right now.

_How has he managed it all these years? _

Sakura cracks one eye open to sneak a look at the studious man in the corner, the warm, buttery light of the lamp illuminating the glossy, dark locks that fill Sakura with envy.

_He has to be lonely. Does he even have friends?_

She knows he certainly doesn't have a family – at least not one that will willingly embrace him any longer. And what of the other members of the Akatsuki? To hear Sasori talk (and to believe him, which might be an entirely different folly), Itachi lies as much to his fellow criminals as he has to her and the police. She has a hard time seeing the group of them going out for pizza and bowling after work, reminiscing on the day's illegal paraphernalia acquisitions and assassinations. No. Definitely not.

A part of her wants to feel pity for him, to grieve for the good life that should have been so assured to someone of his family.

He could've been great.

Famous rather than infamous.

Sakura's eyes close without her knowledge, and a few moments later, Itachi pulls the cord on the lamp to bathe the room in inky black shadows. But Sakura has already been pulled under by the force of slumber by then.

* * *

As Sakura walks through the hotel door, she takes a cursory glance at the room's furnishings, admiring the mirrored closet doors and jade green bedding of the king-sized monstrosity book-ended by a matching pair of ebony carved nightstands. Ceramic vases as tall as she is sit on the floor, depicting scenes of valiant samurai and dashing stallions in hues of blue and red. But the orchids and fresh fruit bowls are just quaint blurs of background imagery to the main attraction that has her prowling further into the inner sanctum of this temporary resting place. Feeling the corners of her mouth stretch into a coy smile, her feet come to a halt at the foot of the bed as her eyes drink in the sight of the man awaiting her arrival. She roves over the features of his back, sculpted lines in pale ivory, and his stillness almost misleads her to believe he is nothing more than a marvelous replica.

Then he turns away from the doorway leading out onto the balcony and she catches herself holding her breath as she takes in the details of that exquisite face.

_Itachi._

Even the dimly lit room can't conceal the beauty of this man. Clad in nothing but a simple pair of dark gray slacks, he is equal parts right and wrong. Heavenly and sinful.

And Sakura is an obliging creature that is wont to give into temptation.

She'd readily tell him all this, but she's too slow. His lips are on her forehead.

Her cheek.

Her mouth.

_Perfection._

His hands slide down her arms, past her wrists and fingertips until they settle at her hips, guiding her body closer until her breathing is frantic with excitement.

But perfection is a fragile thing, never truly existing though one can come so gaspingly close that when it all comes crashing down, fracturing in jagged bits and pieces, all that can be done is to cry out in anguish.

Sakura chokes on a scream.

And bullets are pelting the glass balcony doors like so many fat raindrops sending out shattering ripples with every impact so that Sakura brings her arms up to shield her face.

And_ still_ the noise keeps buzzing and she can't breathe and –

Heaving off the burden of sleep with the force one would use to shove away an attacker, Sakura finds her weight settling onto her hands and knees as they press deeply into the mattress to hold herself up while she catches her breath, realizing she had been smothering her face into the lumpy pillow as she sometimes did in sleep.

_Uggghhh._

But the noise still persists and she jerks her gaze to the other side of the bed, expecting to find Itachi. But he is still seated in his reading chair, the soft glow of his cellphone illuminating his eyes and cheeks, and the unbidden memory of Sakura's dream lurks at the back of her thoughts until she forces that away too.

"What is it?" she manages to croak in a voice scratchy and dry with sleep. Danzo's name circles through her brain like a hamster in a wheel.

But Itachi has the phone against his ear, the voice on the other end too quiet for Sakura to even hazard a guess at which Akatsuki member might be making such a late night call. Sakura's fists clench into the sheets and she's thankful that the darkened room masks her impatience. With little more than a "Got it," Itachi ends the call and Sakura hears the _clack _as the phone is deposited on the glass table.

"So?" she implores.

Itachi doesn't answer immediately; causing Sakura's tension to mount before he deigns to reply so that Sakura is like a starved person greedily gobbling up his words when he finally doles them out.

"The Sound has deployed a team more quickly than we anticipated. It was fortunate that we dispatched our own surveillance team as early as we did."

"So that means…?"

"The teams dispatched into Konoha have reported the Sound's success in kidnapping Danzo Shimura from his residence just after 2:00 am. The entire operation took approximately seven minutes, and so far there are two known casualties, both of Danzo's bodyguard."

Stunned by the concise crispness with which Itachi intones these details of an event too surreal for Sakura to properly digest at such an hour, she feels a sense of hysterical disbelief when Itachi off-handedly adds to the report that her old acquaintance Sai had been spotted outside on the estate's front lawn, retreating into the main house under heavy gunfire as the assailants felled the two guards posted at the front entrance. From there, Akatsuki's scouts lost sight of him as he was pursued into the building by Sound agents.

"Do you think he's still alive?" Sakura can't help but ask, can't even decide why she feels the impulse to ask. She has known Sai for a good many years even if she hasn't, apparently, known him all that well.

"It's possible, but too uncertain to tell this early. One team will be sent in to investigate the scene while it's still early enough to make use of the confusion and coverage provided by the extensive damage to the property. However, it won't be long before the police arrive. To that end, it's fortunate that Danzo lives so far from the center of town."

Sakura frowns at this, unsure of just how she feels in regard to Sai and his role in her current state of peril. Had he not involved her, had he not been suspicious of what she knew, _how very, pathetically little she knew…!_

It's enough to make her pinch the flesh between her eyes in frustration. What a world of trouble she caused for herself by being so inquisitive!

Still, if Sai truly was Danzo's creature, he must either hate her or not care for her one way or the other. Sakura doesn't know which would irk her more, though she supposes the answer doesn't really matter when the outcome is essentially the same. Pushing thoughts of Sai away, she pulls the comforter around her huddled shoulders, encompassing herself in a false sense of security as she nestles into the warm cocoon.

"Are we heading to Oto first thing tomorrow then?" she asks with equal parts trepidation and hopefulness to have this all said and done.

But Itachi exhales heavily, answering with a cryptic, "Not just yet," that leaves Sakura oddly relieved.

"Why not?" Sakura's hands pull the blanket more snuggly around her shoulders. Her eyes have adjusted to the dark, but even so, she hears rather than sees the movement of Itachi's fingers dragging through his bangs.

"To keep up the façade, we must lure them into a false sense of triumph. We can't make it obvious that we're right on their heels or things could turn messy. The Sound are a ruthlessly desperate lot and I'm unwilling to engage with the team they sent out tonight without first allowing for our teams to observe them. They were good, whoever they are. They were practically undetectable up until the moment they opened fire on the guards. After that, they dropped all pretenses of stealth and used sheer force."

None of that description of their enemies makes Sakura feel any better so she can't help the frustrated scowl she shoots Itachi when he suggests she go back to sleep. Not that he can see it anyway.

* * *

But she must have returned to sleep at some point, having sunk into her warm, slightly strangling cocoon of sheets and comforter, for her eyelids are fluttering open in the dim morning light and Itachi is still resting in his chair. With a slight flutter of mirth stirring in her throat at catching the Uchiha dozing, Sakura clamps down on the absurd notion to snicker and extricates herself from the bed to go make use of the bathroom.

The sound of a hacking cough broken up by a few ragged gulps for breath has Sakura dashing from the sink, toothbrush clutched tightly between her teeth as she comes upon Itachi clutching uselessly at his throat as he rouses himself to his feet.

_Shit._

How could she not have guessed at it? It was common enough for patients suffering from Itachi's condition to prefer sleeping while sitting up or reclined on propped up pillows. It eases the difficulty of breathing brought on when lying on a flat surface. Flicking her toothbrush away to the dresser, she approaches the struggling Uchiha as he battles the clog in his airway that she knows is a frothy accumulation of sputum. His coughs are wet and wheezing as he cups his hands to his mouth to conceal the substance painfully being dislodged from his throat. With a final heave of effort, she can tell when he has at last satisfied himself with a certain level of comfort, clasping his palms together as he trudges past her to the bathroom to wash up.

Sakura pours a glass of water that she very nearly drops at the sound of a thud and Itachi's pained grunt.

Checking on him in the bathroom, she finds he has sunk to his haunches, back to the wall as he clutches at his head.

"Itachi?"

"I'm just…dizzy," he allows, and it's telling when he refuses to move from his position just yet, as though collecting the remnants of his energy for one last, great effort.

In the light of the bathroom, Sakura can see the perspiration dotted across his forehead, his skin waxy pale. She exhales loudly, shaking her head to herself as Itachi's eyes are too unfocused to catch the motion.

"You've exerted yourself too much. Come on, let's get you to bed."

And with that, the tiny, pink-haired doctor bodily hauls Itachi to his unsteady feet, guiding him to the bed where she hurriedly piles a mound of pillows together before insisting he rest. Passing him the water, not missing the slight tremble in his grasp, Sakura next turns her attention to the packages Itachi had stowed just inside the door – the same packages she had caught a brief glimpse of in the trunk of his car. She had guessed they were likely the means by which Itachi has been managing to sustain himself and her hunch now proves correct as she reveals Itachi's supply of self-treatment.

Shaking her head again in wonderment, her fingers work to tear at the plastic packaging, appreciating the directions and dosage levels indicated on each. Itachi has been managing his affairs rather impressively though a part of her shudders that such medication can easily be exchanged into the hands of men of such supposed ill repute, completely under the table. What medical professional would risk their career for such?

_How much does Itachi pay for this?_

Though a more snide part of her chimes in that he may not pay for this at all. Why buy when blackmail or fear tactics could work just as well?

But refusing to grow bitter and resentful to the more nefarious aspects of her current patient (especially when those aspects may just save her skin), Sakura collects one of the bottles filled with a similar brand of preload reducers she had introduced to Itachi while he was in the hospital . These pills have the job of reducing the pressure brought on by all the fluid buildup in Itachi's lungs and heart. Before turning back to administer the drug to her patient, Sakura's keen eyes do not miss the baby blue pills tucked away in their own tiny pill box.

_Morphine._

She wonders how often Itachi had found it necessary to dose himself with _that_. Judging by the numbers on them, Itachi has seen fit to self-prescribe himself a much higher dosage than what he was receiving while held captive in Suna.

Along with his packaged drugs, she spots a sealed face mask and tubing. If she were to inspect the other packages on the floor, she suspects she'd find a few oxygen reservoir bags as well.

With medicine in hand, she returns to the side of an exhausted Itachi whose eyes remain closed and whose every breath appears to be in defiance of a cruel fate.

"Here, take this."

He complies readily and Sakura entertains the idea of making use of his oxygen supply to ease his breathing and allow for sleep, but Itachi offers a slight smile before permitting himself to sink back peacefully into his pillows.

Wide awake at eight in the morning, Sakura gives precedence to her patient as she gives him full range of the bed and takes up his recently vacated seat. It's just as stiff and unforgiving as she imagined it'd be. But her fingers brush across the thick fabric and cardboard cover of the book Itachi had been reading from, and with one cautious glance at his closed eyes, she quietly cracks it open…

To find perhaps the last type of reading material she would have ever expected to belong to an Akatsuki member: fairy tales.

Green eyes race down the table of contents to find a list of stories compiled by the Grimm brothers.

"You're a strange one," Sakura whispers more to herself than to the sleeping man now at peace before her. With mild fascination, she turns the pages to find them in crisp, pristine condition despite their yellowed coloration. The pages are without dog ears and he doesn't seem to rely on a bookmark to hold his place, so Sakura flips through them indiscriminately, looking for something to catch her eye as she occasionally looks up to glance upon her patient's state of rest.

Settling on the title of _The Singing Bone_, Sakura permits herself to relaxedly sink into temporary escape from her bizarre state of reality, rising up from the story in intermittent intervals to check on the rhythmic rise and collapse of the sleeping Uchiha's chest. Once finished with the tale, she's left with the queer, troubling sensation of not knowing whether she liked or disliked the story. Somehow her mind keeps trying to make far-reaching connections to poor, murdered Shisui and the cousin mistakenly wrapped up in his disappearance.

Deciding to push onward in her reading as Itachi logs some much needed hours of sleep, she blindly runs her finger up and down the table of contents to halt on the next story. And repeats the process again, and again, and again, drinking up the illustrations with starving eyes until she realizes her stomach is in need of sating too.

The rest of that day and the one after that are spent much in the same manner of vigilantly monitoring Itachi's lungs, punctuated with hours of retreat into his book and a few practice sessions with assembling and loading her gun. Itachi, after the sun has set, leaves each night despite Sakura's protests to go do…whatever it is he does. Sakura doesn't ask and he doesn't offer any explanation, only the same unnecessary instructions to stay inside with the door locked and curtains closed. He takes several phone calls while the two are secluded in their bland, little motel room, but Sakura can glean little from the side of the conversation she is privy to. But finally, on the fourth day, Itachi informs her they'll be moving on. The Akatsuki tracking the Sound's progress back to their hidey hole have confirmed their location as well as sighting Danzo being forcibly moved into their facilities under armed guards.

"Finallyyyy," Sakura raises her arms overhead, curving her back in a satisfying stretch as Itachi shares their plans for the day. Of course, she doesn't know if she'll be so appreciative later in the day of moving on from the relative, albeit mind numbingly dull, safety of their current location.

Still, they wait until the stars blink into existence before bothering to scuttle out from their dwellings with all their belongings in a single, overburdened trip. Sakura considers it over-precaution to wait until dark, after all, they're chasing the Sound, not the other way around.

_Or is it?_

Paranoid that maybe, just maybe, some stealthy would-be sniper is lurking in the shadows of the sparsely filled parking lot, Sakura scurries faster on the heels of Itachi as the bags containing the remnants of their food supply cuts off circulation at the crease of her elbow, her duffle bag thumping awkwardly against her flank with each step.

Surely the Akatsuki can outthink and outmaneuver the Sound, right? Surely they aren't the ones that have to worry about being ambushed.

All of a sudden, that dank, little motel room is looking mighty appealing.

Itachi is quieter than usual which does nothing to alleviate Sakura's anxiety as she helps stow their luggage and settles in her seat. With the radio off, there is little to distract her other than the sound of the car's engine and her own too-heavy breathing. Absently, she wonders if Itachi should be allowed to drive. If he were to be seized by another coughing attack, it could spell serious trouble for –

"There's something you should be prepared for, should our current intel prove accurate," Itachi breaks into her thoughts solemnly.

Sakura's eyelids flutter in confusion at his tone, unconsciously biting her lip in anticipation.

"What's wrong?"

Because no one's voice drops to such hushed intensity unless the news is bad.

"Earlier this morning, our best spy reported tentative identification of the team believed to have been tasked with apprehending Danzo."

Sakura nods along, "Ah, some of our old friends then?" she asks, false cheer making her voice tight. Suigetsu is never far from her nightmares, and she has never harbored a hatred that burns greater than that which she has for the red-haired witch.

"The woman with glasses that drugged you has been seen…"

Sakura huffs at this.

"As has my little brother."

And chokes on this.

Hand fluttering to her throat uselessly as she manages to clear it, Sakura feels a worm of queasiness roll over in the pit of her belly.

"What did you say?" Sakura notes the tinge of disbelieving panic in her own voice.

"Sasuke has been busy making new friends, it seems," Itachi replies tonelessly. But Sakura knows Itachi (at least she thinks she knows him) well enough to tell that this news affects him more than he's willing to let on. Despite the lack of any outward signs of distress, Sakura is certain that this predicament has him stressed.

_Which won't help his heart at all…_

"I don't understand…" Sakura muses aloud, "How could Sasuke get in with this Orochimaru character? How would he even meet someone like that?"

"Even I'm surprised at the extent of Orochimaru's influence. He has acquaintances in high and low places and Sasuke would've met countless new people in the military. But I suspect his sway over my little brother stems largely from his search for me."

Sakura scrunches her brows at this.

"You know he's been looking for you?"

"Ever since I left," Itachi chuckles without humor, "But with more guided intent shortly after he graduated high school. When he began to get a little too close, I had to go underground, so to speak. Since then, it's been a risk to do anything in the public eye or to perform my own surveillance of him."

"Wow, that's a really nice, stable, brotherly relationship you have going on there. Not absurd in the slightest," Sakura comments wryly, trying to lighten the mood while also organizing her hectic emotions into order.

Sasuke.

Their paths might just cross after so many years…

Sakura's careless reminiscing is abruptly cut off by the obnoxious rev of a motorcycle fast approaching the passenger side. Squinting at the single headlight zooming into focus in the side mirror, she barely manages an indignant "Hey!" as Itachi's palm forcefully pushes her head down as he uses the other to swerve into the next lane away from the motorist.

A single crack of gunfire provides Sakura with the much needed reasoning behind such a sudden, rough gesture.

Eyes popping wide open, Sakura's breath catches in her throat and sticks as her neck aches from its cramped, awkward position as well as with the ridiculous impulse to glance up and see how close their assailant is.

_Stupid! No matter what, he's too close!_

Before she can give into said impulse, Itachi's cellphone resting in the cup holder lights up with a chirpy ring.

"Answer it."

Itachi's crisp directive is given as he steps on the gas pedal, neglecting the posted speed limit as their unwanted pursuer easily weaves among the sparse traffic to catch up.

"H-Hello?" Adrenaline leaves Sakura's voice wavery, but her hand clenches the device to her ear with a desperate vengeance.

"Well, well, Pinky, looks like you're in trouble already. Luckily for you, we're already in route to save your sorry asses. Tell Itachi to keep heading north. We'll be caught up with you in about six and a half miles. Take exit 12A. Itachi shouldn't have trouble finding his way to Station 18 from there."

Kisame's booming, gruff voice so close to her ear has alarm bells ringing in her head, but all she can repeat is, "Station 18?"

"Yeah, 18," Kisame answers impatiently, "Now relay the rest of the message like a good little birdy."

Promptly doing so, neck craned around to keep an eye on the motorcycle that's dropped about fifty yards behind them, Sakura tugs at the seatbelt that has suddenly become too restrictive. She wants nothing more than to fly free from here.

Itachi nods at Sakura's provided instructions and has her set the phone to speaker mode. Sakura's eyes dart to the speedometer on the dash worriedly before looking back up to the road ahead of them and the rear end of a van that appears to be decelerating by the second.

_Can't they see our lives are in danger?!_

"I-Itachi, you're going to end up – "

But her sentence is swallowed up by a tremendous shriek pealing from her lips as the back doors of the utility van are thrust open just enough from within and Itachi has a fraction of a second to shout the command that has Sakura ducking for the floorboards. Itachi himself has to swerve blindly to the right as the windshield is cratered with frosty impact sites, a small, dark circle in the midst of each one to let the rush of the cool evening air into the cab.

Nearly hyperventilating with terror, Sakura now has no inclination of peeking up over the dashboard. Ever. This is where she lives now.

Kisame's voice curses colorfully over the connected line, but Sakura can't discern the words over the rapid thumping emanating from her chest cavity.

"Sakura."

She doesn't answer.

"Sakura," Itachi tries again more sternly.

She glances up at him from her hunkered position, barely daring to turn her head lest she expose anymore of herself.

"Remain calm and reach into the back seat for the case behind me."

Dumbly, Sakura unbends with great effort and twists around to reach into the dark recesses of the back seat. Even as her fingers brush across the cool surface of the case, her thoughts aren't logically skipping ahead to what Itachi will likely ask her to do with it.

Not even when the numbers to the combination lock roll from his tongue and her fingers work to comply.

So when he does ask her, Sakura is left sitting there, unmoving, unblinking, uncomprehending.

"I can't," she manages at last.

At this point, the two are traveling at a speed that makes the dotted white lines on the asphalt turn to one seamless blur in the illumination of the headlights.

"We need the deterrent until Kisame and the rest can cover us."

From the side mirror, Sakura watches as a defenseless, red Fiat is clipped while the van gives chase, completely ignoring lane divisions to the consternation of all innocent, uninvolved drivers. The road becomes a cacophony of car horns and screeching brakes, but they're barely obstacles for the motorcycle rider to weave through.

"You'll be seeing Sasori and Deidara ahead of me. No friendly fire, newbie," Kisame's gravelly voice warns.

Sakura gulps at the previously unthought-of possibility.

_There are so many reasons NOT to do this._

She could hit one of the Akatsuki.

She could accidentally hit another vehicle.

_What the hell is Itachi thinking?_

Still, with fingers shaking, she loads the bullets, eyes squinting with concentration in the dim light, relying more on familiar feel than anything else.

With the motorcyclist nearing the bumper on her side, Sakura takes one last breath to steady her hands.

"Do it. Now."

And her finger releases a burst of energy that pings off the road just close enough to make the rider wobble unsurely before revving the engine to increase speed, one hand raised.

One hand raised with a pistol aimed at Sakura's face.

But the bike gives a death throe-like jerk out from underneath the rider, who is thrown to the ground with unmerciful speed that not even the helmet shielding his face could prove to be much help against. Sakura turns forward again at the first bounce of impact, refusing to have that image seared in her memory. The sparks thrown off from the skidding body of the bike burns an afterimage across her eyes.

The van is still on their tail.

And when Sakura hears the guttural roar of another engine and then _another_ after that, her heart feels as though it's constricting into a tiny, dense ball within her chest, hoping if it shrinks down in size it might just escape notice and survive.

But as the two riders pull up parallel to their car, Itachi orders her to hold fire and Sakura soon sees why. One in all white and one in scarlet and black leather riding gear, the two can only be the Akatsuki tag team she has become so familiar with. Even with a white helmet shielding everything from dome to chin, Deidara's corn silk hair whipping wildly at his back is unmistakable.

"What the hell? He's using a crossbow?!" Sakura momentarily forgets herself as her eyes alight on the ridiculous device strapped over one of Deidara's shoulders.

"Pistol crossbow," Itachi corrects, "He does enjoy being theatrical."

Sakura scoffs, watching as the scarlet rider moves into position behind Deidara, one covering the front wheel on her side, and one the rear.

The Sound's van (and Sakura can only assume it's the Sound though she supposes people like the Akatsuki have more than just one enemy after their heads) has almost caught up with them to run parallel three lanes away from them.

About the only thing Sakura can see that's working in their favor is that any gunfire would have to come from the driver's window.

And it does.

Sasori sends back an answering volley to the spray that pelts the back door of their car, somehow miraculously abstaining from any damage himself. And to Sakura's astonishment and screaming sense of self-preservation, she watches as the Akatsuki on bikes move in near perfect synchronization, crossing lanes _toward_ the enemy vehicle.

Another round of bullets spitting forth from Sasori's gun has the body of the van pierced through in too many places to count and Sakura's eyes widen impossibly further as a body tumbles out of the back doors that must have carelessly been left unlatched.

At the same time, Deidara zeroes in on the driver, spearing his throat with a bolt that has Sakura reaching for her own neck with imagined pain. This leaves Deidara with only the man in the front passenger seat to contend with, one that shares an uncanny resemblance to the driver now slumped forward on the wheel and quickly veering off course.

"Incoming!"

A bestial holler thunders from the forgotten cell phone, but whatever that single word has in store, Sakura notices it has Itachi, Sasori, and Deidara all hauling ass as fast as their respective engines can take them. Hurtling forward at a speed that has her eyes practically watering as the air shooting into her unguarded face from the open window stings her mercilessly, Sakura doesn't catch sight of the freshly waxed, black SUV entering from the on ramp and pummeling pavement to gain ground on the all but settled altercation taking place at top speeds. If she had, she would have witnessed the expertly calculated toss of a small, round _something _colliding with the roof of the van as the sleek SUV overtook its less than guided path.

But the aftermath of this seemingly careless lob is not to be missed. The road behind them lights up like a too-dry Christmas tree as the van combusts in a fiery inferno, wildly spinning off the shoulder of the road and into the safety guard and ditch where the flames continue to feed from the battered metal husk.

Sakura's neck swivels forward once more, back plastered to her seat.

_Did we just do that?_

But already, Itachi is maneuvering over to the far right lane, all the traffic left in their dust as they speed toward the exit ramp and away from the distracting light show. The SUV and two motorcycles continue their journey along the highway, abruptly departing ways from Itachi and Sakura without so much as a wave of recognition.

It's done.

The crackling laughter filling the cab returns Sakura's attention to Itachi's phone and she reminds herself to be more aware of the object still gripped in her hand, its time for use now passed.

"Yo, Itachi, you might need to remind Pinky in there the obligations of shotgun. If she can't take the heat, stick to the car seat."

And with that half-intelligible witticism, the gruff voice of the Uchiha's partner cuts out with a final bark of laughter before Sakura can offer any form of protest to the insult.

"Sorry that was my first mobile shootout," Sakura mutters sarcastically at the now silent, disconnected phone.

Itachi calmly turns onto a more residential-looking road before offering any consoling words.

"You performed…satisfactorily for your first time."

Sakura arches a brow that goes unnoticed by the attentive driver.

"You mean I didn't end up accidentally shooting either one of us," Sakura huffs, crossing her arms in semi-real offense, "Satisfactorily is what you say when you can't honestly tell someone they did well, but don't want to upset them by saying they did badly."

"I think I mean what I say," Itachi counters amusedly.

Sakura gives a contemptuous sniff, nevertheless happy to not be fresh Swiss cheese (even if she didn't offer any real help in the matter).

She may just survive this ordeal.

* * *

**Author's Note:**** I'm just glad this chapter is out. Did it seem like it would never happen? 'Cause it felt that way to me. I think my problem is that I already have the final chapter done and a pretty clear idea for an epilogue of sorts that it's a strain to do all the work to get to that point . I know, I know, wah wah wah, woe is the writer. **

**So, thanks for sticking in there during such a long wait. There's more to come!**

**Thanks for reading!**


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